"Life is Lived on the Streets"

The statement, I have had enough may claim two polar meanings.

The first interpretation moves one to change, the other, to complacence.

There is the 'enough' that equates to a resting point, and there is the 'enough' that comes as a bellowed longing, a heaving sigh or a vindictive chant.

I am no scientist. Patience I have not, and the mathematical patience the various scientific trades require is much too heavy a cost for my feeble body and mind. Nevertheless, despite this prescient reality for me, I remain deeply interested in the theoretical and practical advances we see constantly revealed before our eyes. A question I have longed asked my friends of renown, is the question of the speed of light. For interstellar travel, it would appear necessary for us to break this supposed law to make any claims at Star Trekkian success. I have, on many occasions, been told that it can't be done; that it will never be done. The speed of light is the max-out, the end of the ball of yarn, the summation of the speedial story. I refuse, in my home of relative ignorance, to accept such a proclamation.

You see, maybe this world's had enough of being solely slower-than-the-speed-of-light. Maybe we've had our fill of that time period. Maybe it is time for a speedal game changer. And I ask you, you skeptic, you fat and satisfied; who are you to say otherwise? Tell me!

Last week quite a rufus was made by claims that some Italian neutrinos had broken the speed of light by a few nanoseconds. Apparently the evidence is pretty credible:
http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=particles-found-to-travel

The thing about being satisfied, about saying, I've had enough as if to speak of a permanent contendedness with the status quo, is that it ultimately constructs a belief that the story is complete.

The story is not complete. To believe otherwise is blasphemy.

We are walking through this life, through this grand story that we've been dipped into, and in our walking we must remain acutely aware that we are walking towards an end, towards the next signpost.

N.T. Wright writes in his book Surprised by Hope,

Jesus’s appearing will be, for those of us who have known and loved him here, like meeting face-to-face someone we have only known by letter, telephone, or perhaps e-mail. Communication theorists insist that for full human communication you need not only words on a page but also a tone of voice. That’s why a telephone call can say more than a letter, not in quantity but in quality. But for full communication between human beings you need not only a tone of voice but also body language, facial language, and the thousand small ways in which, without realizing it, we relate to one another. At the moment, by the Spirit, the word, the sacraments and prayer, and in those in whom we are called to serve for his sake, the absent Jesus is present to us; but one day he will be there with us, face-to-face.

When all is lost, when best friend betrays, father denounces, and nation slanders... when characters like Titus Ronet have no physical relationship to cling to --- there remains the reality --- the story isn't over. Not yet. There are more acts to be played out. There are more cards to reveal. There are more plot twists to be had, to inspire, to bring to despair, to bring to hope.

As for me, as for you, let us not grow satiated with having enough blessing.

Enough's enough. Something's got to give. Let's live to see the next plot twist. Let's live to meet our maker face-to-face... to see what the denouement has in store for us. 

*The title of this post was taken from a work of graffiti I pass by almost daily here in Koper. It presents to me this unease, this uncanny sense that I must do more of this, this living.

Did it Change Us?

So we've marked the ninth anniversary of 9/11.  God be with America.

After watching Life as a House I noticed that it was released in November of '01.  Since it was obviously filmed and edited before the attacks, it has to be one of the last family dramas of the pre-"post-9/11" time period.

I hear that a lot, this phrase, post-9/11.  What does that really mean?

Plopping those words together predicates that a change has occurred.  According to that logic, the events of September 11th, 2001 didn't just happened, they are happening.  Tremors of the day are still reverberating.

When looking at the American family, at least on the big screen, I think we can find evidences that this notion of a post-9/11 world is indeed a reality.

American Beauty won a buttload of awards for its 1999 movie season, and assuredly rightfully so.  But when I watch it now, I can't ever quite shake that the world its characters inhabit is not my own.  Not anymore.  I think the film is a brilliant response of its boomboom 90s time period.

In the late nineties, the closest thing America had to a war was a far-off skirmish our military jostled with in a place called Kosovo, that sounded about as real as Narnia to us SoCallers.  Gay rights activism wasn't yet hitting state elections.  The dotcom era gave the country a high, and the exhilaration was doubled every six months with every new, faster, sleeker computer model.  And the country's biggest problem appeared to be the libido of Bill Clinton.

Enter American Beauty (or, if you prefer, substitute The Ice Storm).  The films characters believe that they should be living in the renaissance of the American Leave It to Beaver era.  They believe perfection not only can be obtained, but that it is always just a Hallmark moment away from realization.  From this then, we are brought to inciting incident; a turn of events that causes our protagonist to realize how deep in the quicksand not only he and his family are in, but ultimately, the whole world.

The formula is as such: 

1) The veneer of the perfect household is torn asunder, 
2) our characters wallow in the filth, seeking unscrupulous means of finding a way out, and ultimately, 
3) the family finds some form of redemption.  

Rinse and repeat.

That was the past.  No longer can we make claim to any sort of slick varnish for our family cultures.  No, the family drama of the post-9/11 drama, the likes of films such as The Squid and the Whale, are now built on the foundation of dissolution.  There's no need for the illusion of happiness and togetherness to be dismantled.  In this world, the illusion has been explained to us.  Our characters can be perhaps nostalgic for the good ol' days, but there is no mask.  From minute one we know the world is fucked up.  There's no hiding it.  The result of this is that we are given more screen time watching our heros battling to seek out redemption for their broken lives, or we see them obstruct their road to peace so far that they begin to become unreachable beings of distaste.  They fall away entirely... into the static.

I do believe that such a thing as a cultural consciousness exists.  And I think that watching the two largest skyscrapers of our largest American city be annihilated crushed our perceived innocence.  It tore us down to the bone.  It left us dry.

But it is better to start with nothing then to build on a false foundation.  May God protect and redeem the United States of America.  Amen.

The Holy Moment

Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in. 

It's a rare feeling, but when it comes, it paints the day.  Maybe the week.  Lord willing, my life.

Today, in Ljubljana, after lunch, it returned to me.  It's presence was fleeting, but I've become conditioned to sniff out its presence from afar.  

I was standing amidst a little street fair.  It was really nothing special.  There were a few stands, a cotton candy hub, and maybe seventy people strewn about.  There was a classical band full with baritones, clarinets, tubas and suspenders.  They were playing jolly Slovene anthems.  Every few songs an accordion player would join in.  

Everything was fun, like a small town 4th of July parade.  I was happy.  Then came the baton twirlers.

A dozen or so teenage baton twirlers pranced out with their batons and blue, somewhat traditional leotard outfits.  They were not very well coordinated.  A few of the girls had obvious embarrassment marked about their eyes.  They marched in place on the cobblestone to the beat of the tubas.

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It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it.  For fifteen minutes.

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There, in that place, it visited me -- that absolute feeling.

I will try to explain: everything I saw in that moment, everything I smelled and heard and sensed -- it was all so lovely.  I became, for just a fleeting moment, so enamored with my love for this life that I slid into it fully.  If I could stay in that moment, I think I would melt into the cobblestone.  I loved all the people that surrounded me, I loved the band, the littlest twirler that was consistently a beat and a half behind pace... I even loved the old dude that stood on the steps way behind the band that sported nothing but jean shorts, a necklace, and a off-beat clap.  I loved it all.  I felt so amazingly blessed just to be given this moment as a gift from the Lord -- I was beside myself.

Then I realized what I was feeling, and it was over.  

Perhaps I am the only one who is given such moments.  Whether you get them or not, I think it is what the new earth will be like.  All things will be filled to the brim with love.  And a love that big can't be contained. 

And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember..."