"Alexis Needs"...

Found this on a few different blogs...it's too great. So here is my name a la Google:

Alexis needs...
...to stop drawing on herself.
...a stable home with lots of patience and understanding.
...to be clued in on the new perspective.
...care.
...lots of bed rest.
...to pull the burr out of her rear and deal with reality before
someone knocks her off, which couldnt be soon enough!
...to kick him to the curb once and for all and come roaring back.
...right now.
...a little bit of madness.
...video viewing pleasure.
...help getting the helium to the union from
collins at around 3pm
...just 195 yards to become only
the 10th Husky to reach 2,000 for his career.
...prayers.

The Lunatic Project

More and more I feel like I express opinions which are held by few people, if any other people hold them at all. In America, we glorify the individual and stress the importance of that person's uniqueness thereby cutting the person off from the herd. It is a stripping experience. One that destroys solidarity, and makes more it ever so difficult to fulfill an individual's need of belonging.

I was sitting in a cafe owned by a large church in Santa Barbara drinking a dark chocolate mocha when I made the connection. Sitting there at a table for two people, my canvas bag the occupant of the opposing chair, I read the much acclaimed book by George Orwell 1984. I was just getting to the part where the protagonist, Winston, has entered the antique shop for the second time- this time having purchased an old paper weight (some coral centered in clear glass). He makes a comment about renting the upstairs room from the owner of the shop because it has so many beautiful old things from a bygone era - things from when there were capitalists. He says it would be a lunatic project because he is likely to be caught.

In a world where there are police and small children watching your every eyebrow movement, the smallest out of line thought can be an act of rebellion. You must be crazy if you don't believe the same things everyone else does, either that, or you are the only sane one. One recalls the movie 12 Monkeys. It's like seeing rainbows around lights.

Or what about Joan of Arc? Was she crazy? Or did she see something that no one else was able to see? Now a days we categorize people who express radically different views as either crazy, or heretical thereby destroying any shred of credibility. Yet, if we take a moment to consider this 'heretical' viewpoint, we are often able to see a kernel of truth. We are able to see enough that our own views are called into question. Is this the real reason why we must label these people as crazy or heretical? Are we so weak we cannot allow there to be any opposition on an issue that might uproot our present circumstance?

There are so many opinions, so many thoughts that are generated, in this time they seem to jumble and melt together. Is there harm in a perspective becoming a counterpoint? How can we know our majority opinions are right unless we have something drastically different to challenge us? If we are not challenged, won't we atrophy? Won't that lead to a kind of destruction?

It is through the edges that we find our center. I am not calling for the kind of violent extremism that has come under such scrutiny as of late, but a dialogue. There must be room along the edges for the counterpoint. We must encounter people with such views, and we must understand them. It is not just for the sanctity of the individual, and their need to belong, but also for the health of the whole community.

It has been said that the true sign of intelligence is the ability to hold two diametrically opposed ideas in one's head, and not go crazy. It is also a sign of true wisdom, when a community can hold two diametrically opposed persons, and everything in between, and not rip itself apart.

I am an independent thinker, but I never want to be in the shoes of Winston.

"I hate my sister...she's such a b*?%$"

First, I don't have a sister. Still, I have to answer to all the other women in the world, just as each of us has to answer back to the rest. It's funny how an individual can stand for all possible representations of a given group - whether that group is determined by race, culture, sexuality, gender or some other random characteristic. To make matters worse, the number of people who determine a particular archetype of a group is often absurdly small.

Who in their right mind believes that one group can be represented by a given shape or 'package'? That's silliness. As if every Asian was the same, or every European...or every amputee or every great aunt with red hair could be represented equally and without issue by another person who might exhibit the given characteristic?! You might ask why I should be making such a complaint.

I, like so many before me, was once a victim of catalogue shopping. I am not talking about online shopping - that would involve a different set of issues. No, this is pure unadulterated catalogue shopping being discussed here. As a testament to my now cured addiction (cured through the drying up of funds and wizening of mind) I continue to receive catalogues from this bygone era. Considering that I am a rather young person (still in my early 20s) these catalogues reflect an even younger demographic. As I was purusing one such offending tree killing catalogue, I began to notice the striking similarity of the blonde models to many of the young women - or I should say, GIRLS - who live in my locale, the at once both lovely and terrifying city of Santa Barbara CA.

I am a brunette. I have always been a brunette (despite any hair dying episodes in my younger days), and I will probably always think of myself as a brunette. I do not have blue eyes. They are more hazel or honey than straight brown or green. I have always taken offense to the bombardment of blonde blue-eyed Scandanavian wonders that plaster these catalogues and accost my psyche every time I turn the page.

Yet, much has been written on the issue of self-image, and I imagine more will continue to until there is some great depression/technology is ripped out from under us (thereby destroying the lovely business of 'advertising' also known as 'the emptiness business'). It is for this reason that I will try and stay away from the traditional self-image format and go a slightly different angle.

I realized something. It was a beautiful thing when I realized it. These alien people in these catalogues and magazines (though magazines increasingly are becoming catalogues) are not women. They are in fact, girls. They do not have the figure of a woman. Unfortunately for many of them, they will NEVER have a woman's figure. Half of them might never be able to bear children. If there was a famine, they would be the first to die because their percentage of body fat is so ridiculously small that they would not be able to support living very long under severe conditions (which trust me people, is not very far off the way the 1st world consumes resources).

The women who are famous, or just over-eager soccer moms, who are trying to look like 14 yr olds have serious issues. Let's not get into eating disorders (which are prevalent enough). Rather, let's talk about the bizarre idea that 40 yr olds are being held to the same body standards of 14 yr olds, and are BUYING IT!!! This is not to say that the old white men (because they are, all, O-L-D W-H-I-T-E M-E-N) who came up with this RIDICULOUS vision aren't perverts - WHO OVER THE AGE OF 16 THINKS A 14 YR OLD IS HOT?????? There is obviously something wrong with the old white men who think this is hot. Why aren't they seeing a psychiatrist for this problem? And WHY did they decide their fetishes need to be forced onto us?!?!?

Oh wait... they've been doing that to us for the length of the historical record.

Talk about civilization.

There is nothing wrong with an Anglo woman having the body of a 1940's pin-up. Frankly, I think that is optimal. After all, who can honestly say that 1940's pin-ups aren't absolutely beautiful? AND TOTALLY NATURALLY WOMEN?! The pictures above are a few of these more reasonable body types (though certainly not accessible to ALL women).

Hope this was as helpful a release of tension for someone else as it was for me.

Rainbow-ed Vision

I went to the eye doctor today to see about new glasses and contacts. I have more recently (i.e. within the last year or so) discovered that I see rainbows around lights - street lampst, the moon etc. I thought, maybe I just had super acute vision or noticed something that other people didn't see.

When I asked a few people about it, they noted that either they could see it a little bit (maybe it was because of contacts or glasses?) or they couldn't see one at all. This was somewhat upsetting. So, I decided I would ask the lovely blonde eye doctor what the deal was (since one of the questions on the paperwork at the office involved seeing rainbows or halos). At first, she said it wasn't a big deal. When I pressed her on it, she admitted it was indicative of an uncorrected astigmatism.

Bummer.

It was an instant moment of disenchantment.

Then I thought it over. Isn't it funny, when something is 'wrong' with your vision, you GET to consistently see something beautiful like a rainbow? It reminded me of one of my drawing professors mentioning her dislike of glasses. Though, in general I did not remember her fondly, I do remember this comment because I didn't really understand it, and still don't completely - though because of my rainbows, I can identify. She said, 'I had my eyes checked and the doc said I had an astigmatism. When I got the glasses to correct it, it made everything slanted. Everything was weird looking. I didn't like it...so I never wear them. It just made me feel funny.'

After all, if there was something 'wrong' with you that let you see rainbows, would you correct it?

The Lightening Bolt and The Heart

Bottom's up! It's a brand new week and therefore a brand new plague of problems and enriching moments. There were so many things that happened in the weekend- things which sparked so many different directions of thought I can't begin to express them all. For sanctity of mind, let me address only a few.

It is tiresome, the on-going lies. How does anyone get through the day any more? Then it strikes me. A bolt of lightening, just as the singer of 'Crazy Faith' says, and it hits me twice.

Everyone has their own message to share with the world. It is a thing that the soul knows, deep in the bowels of forgotten memories it resides. It is so primitive it associates more with the lizard brain than with the frontal lobe. It reverberates through the chest and pushes out each breath. It is that kind of message. As my father was so kind to bring up my message this morning to a small community in Goleta, I am stimulated to share it in a more public way.

I might be considered an 'emotional person.' This is not to imply that I am weak, or more estro-centric (though I would contend I have ridiculously high levels of that beloved hormone), but merely that I feel deeply. As a society, as a culture, Americans do not give importance to feelings. Our words center on actions and states of being rather than feeling and experience. These things placed aside, I could not hide from my feelings, they would have eaten me from the inside out.

When I began to truly embrace my empathy it lead me directly to a place of sadness. I saw the way the world was and I wept. It made me so depressed, I could not read the newspaper except for the horoscopes and comics. I could not listen to talk or news radio. Anything serious, anything bloody, gruesome, cruel or evil...it was too much for me to bare. It made me hurt so much that I physically ached with the emotional pain. I would have remained this way had I not been sent on a mission trip the summer of 2002.

I had not considered myself a radical before that mission trip. At best, I found myself slightly annoyed, and at worst - downright apathetic. Yet something that summer worked in me. It was as if a catalyst had been thrown into the elixer of me and had stirred some passion into a previously depressed goo. I was able to see, in Central America (Nicaragua and Panama in particular) the effects of my government on other people. I was able to see the scars of war in the land, and in the psyche of the people. I was able to see the danger of nationalism, and of worshipping the idols of political parties. I was able to see how little freedom Americans really had, and how much liberty and joy comes with a lack of things. I was able to see the ties that bring us together across language, culture, socioeconomic, educational, and geographical barriers. It was after this trip that my feeling changed. Instead of being permanently marked by sadness, I became marked by anger.

NOTE: The difference between people who are politically active and people who are not is this: sadness versus anger, respectively. It is no more and no less than this simple difference. Depression forces a person inward and away from action. It slows a person down. Anger is directed outward and motivates a person towards action. It 'revs' up your internal engine, if you will. Though both these emotions are related, and stimulated by the same external variable (the tsunami in Indonesia, or the genocide in Darfur for example) they yield differing results.

My anger radicalized me. It is not a permanent anger. It is an anger that is brought out by actions that reverse our direction as people. My anger stems from war, from children not getting enough attention and tenderness from their parents, from not enough food, from poor distribution of resources, and from the increasing consolidation of power in the hands of a few.

So if anger's not permanent, what else fills that emotional depth? Remember the bolt? Well if you've never listened to 'Crazy Faith' then you don't know that the bolt is love. That is it. It's not some weird psycho-babble or strange freedom fighting slogan (though it may be the most powerful one in existence). Love is the base. Love is my message, the thing that resounds in my head, in my step and my hands. Though I sometimes get caught up in the petty things that bog down the spirit, I always come back to my root. It allows me to forgive people who I may otherwise not have been able to forgive (more on that later). It also allows me to be forgiven. It allows me to serve and be served by my loved ones. It gives me the ability to access overwhelming joy and unfathomable peace. It brings me back to center.

This is not some far out thing, but it might be the most awesome (and I mean this in the classical sense of the word, not the slang) the MOST AWESOME power anywhere. It is love - empathy - compassion (whatever word you want to use) that democratized INdia through Ghandi and his movement. It is love that motivated Martin Luther King, Steven Biko, Nelson Mandela, Oscar Romero, Mother Theresa, and so many others. It is love that brings peace to each individual, and it is shared love that brings peace to fruition in this world. This is the new covenant, and indeed the only covenant that ever existed - that ever really mattered.

It's easy to forget to live it, but it's not easy to forget it when you see it. Love's mark is more permanent than hatred or apathy. It's grace can save millions. It changed my life.

When I opened my heart...really opened it... I started living differently. I chose different occupations based on love for people. A person's priorities can be judged by where his or her resources(time, money, materials) are spent. I changed my priorities, and so I changed how I lived my life. Right now I am an Americorps volunteer at an elementary school. This takes the majority of my week, with sometimes more than 50 hours spent volunteering. I am also a youth pastor at the church where my father is the senior pastor. This takes up approximately 10-20 hours of my weekend time. They are not high paying positions, as you might imagine. This is the path I have chosen and will continue to choose because of love. This is easy for me to say, perhaps because I am young and have no dependents, no spouse. Some might say it is fine for someone in my position to do these things, but a fool's errand to ask this of someone in a different stage of life.

Love can work in any stage of life, any situation, if you let it. A path is cleared once you have opened your heart. You will know where you need to go, what you need to do - and most importantly, you will feel the whole way.

A baby new from the lips

Just because Socialist isn't defined here doesn't mean that 'Emergent/Postmodern' can't be:

You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this.

water color washes

And here is the second set of test results:

You scored as Emergent/Postmodern. Emergent/Postmodern 86% Classical Liberal 61% Charismatic/Pentecostal 57% Modern Liberal 54% Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan 54% Neo orthodox 46% Reformed Evangelical 25% Roman Catholic 18% Fundamentalist 11% What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com

line drawings

I decided I would let everyone in on a "well-kept secret." After seeing a few fun quizes on my dad's blog, I decided I would take the same tests and see where I came out on them. Below is the first:

You are a Social Liberal (70% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (1% permissive) You are best described as a: Socialist Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Neo-Protestant Work Ethic

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there were some intensely devout protestants who were intensely persecuted. They came to American and brought their harsh belief systems that to this day, affect the psyche of America, let alone the religious landscape.

I was reminded today of one such 'legacy' that our lovely spiritual ancestors left us - the protestant work-ethic. I am the kind of person who prefers what might be considered a less strenous day. I like variation in given tasks. I like to control over how much time I spend on a given item and when in the day I spend that time. I do not do well in a constant stream of work.

Perhaps it is just that the words triggered a series of thought processes in me that I found the marks of PWE in SoJo's email newsletter. Perhaps I am being positively heretical.

SoJo highlighted a Bible study called 'Joy At Work' by Mr. Dennis Bakke. I gave a cursory glance to the descriptor and quickly felt PWE encroaching. After all, how could anyone find joy in a 70 or 80 hour work week, especially, as the descriptor mentions, a CEO at a large corporation? Corporations, let's not kid ourselves, are as a species of organization, tyrannical monsters which prey on the misfortunes of others. It is difficult to see any Christian pleasure in the act of being part of a system which creates and maintains the bondage of so many.

That said, let us hope those Christian brothers and sisters who are so damned to work in such soul-sucking places take action to change the cultures of such organizations. I understand that there is a recent movement of consumers as well as corporations to conscientious investing, resource use, etc. This is definitely a step up, and would certainly increase my joy at work, should I be a cubicle monkey.

We also have to consider several factors about a person whether they might in fact take pride in their work, or dervie some sort of satisfaction from their present occupation. How demanding is the job? If it is too much, it will burn out the person. If it is too little it will lead to politicking and other undesirable work-place behaviors. I could delineate other position aspects, but they would still address the same sorts of issues - i.e. are the employee's workplace needs being met by organization? But let's be serious now, Americans have other issues when it comes to work.

I have heard it said many times, by various professors of mine as well as TV and talk radio hosts (read: Air America, especially Al Franken) that Americans generally do not take all of their vacation time. They fear they will be fired if they do. This is quite the contrast when considering the expectations of workplaces in Germany or Denmark for example. I would not say 'nay' to 6 weeks of paid vacation. Would you?

Americans don't get maternity leave. They don't get sufficient benefits packages. In a country where 'National Healthcare' is a dirty phrase, benefits are essential. Daycare is not provided by employers. It now takes two incomes to support a family in the US (according to a study conducted at Harvard as quoted by the researcher on the Al Franken show...to my memory several weeks ago). I am an Americorps Member at an elementary school. All the teachers (who are, I might add, government employees) with small children navigate drop off schedules at various daycare centers because there is no daycare for the pre-school children located at the school site.

I don't know about you, but when I can have one income, healthcare, affordable housing, and a daycare on my job site, I can be joyful at work. Until then, you better hope I can get there less than 10 minutes late because my boyfriend couldn't drop off the kids at the sitter because he had a morning meeting in the next city. You better hope I don't come to work sick and get burned out earlier than I would normally. AND... you better not expect me to be joyful at work when my work doesn't give me the things I need.

Cruthachadh: To Create

The long and seemingly difficult word above is that beloved and much lost language, Gaelic, for the infinitive form of the verb 'create.'

What we 'crut' or 'form' depends on the resources at our disposal. Here I am at the powerhouse of easy blogging, the superstore of web logs, though I might prefer a mom and pop shop to this. Such is war - without technical knowledge nor time to learn, my resignation to this well kept site is complete.

I find my time is better spent using the words, rather than formating them. There you go. Means to an end won today, a small argument in the age old conflict.