Impervious

I place my finger in the Ginko tree's wound
Where you practiced breaking a man's xiphoid process.
I wonder if the microfractures
took you to higher consciousness.
If we stood in opposition, and I crumpled in defeat and blood
Would you achieve the Buddha Mind?
Could I die and forgive you?

Imagining Joseph

"Joseph, her husband, was a just man and not wanting to make her a public example, was minded to divorce her secretly (Matt. 1:19)."

I can't believe these stargazers went to Herod first. Told him they were looking for a “King of the Jews.” Now they’re here gawking at Mary's son and all of Bethlehem saw them - with their camels and gifts and strange accents and questions. Centurions will bust through that door any minute and we’ll all hang on trees. That star doesn’t help either. To get out of this one, I’ll have to move to frickin’ Egypt.

When Mary told me, I thought even she couldn't be so gullible. Poor, naïve Mary fell prey to some lecher. I could hear it all before she said it, “everything happens for a reason and God doesn’t allow anything to happen without his approval so in a way, this is God’s perfect plan.” I didn’t expect the fantasy about angels and immaculate conception – what pathetic, childish escapism.

Did she think the Nazarines would buy that concoction? They would say “oh, well in that case, we’ll make you our queen until the King is born”? She’s so idealistic and quixotic and pious; she’s lost in the world without me. But what was I going to do? I’d be the one fool who believed the lies and a cuckold too! She’d gone too far. I had to let her go, though she had nothing but her delusions and pitiful ruin.

Then I had a dream.

And people will shut their pie holes about you when they need their cabinets fixed…

Imagining Mary

“Now Mary arose and went to the hill country with haste to a city in Judah (Luke 1:39, italics added)”

I’m going to live with my cousin. She’s older and married to a priest, but he’s lost his voice so won’t be able to say anything about it. Mom says I’ve ruined my reputation in Nazareth and I’ve got to go out of town “so you don’t flaunt it.” I tried to tell her that I’m not flaunting it, I just told them about the angel so they wouldn’t think I did anything wrong. She said that’s not what she meant.

They ripped their clothes and called me a blasphemer too.

Rachel and Sarah where whispering in synagogue. They asked me if I liked it and when I told them I was visited by the Holy Spirit while I slept, they said “don’t lie, we know what you’re really like.” I tried to tell them about Gabriel and the promise and how honored I feel to be favored by God, but they just giggled and asked if it was Simon.

Daddy said I can’t come back home because I’ve shamed his household. Joseph just had eyes of inevitability. He said he wasn’t going to make a big deal about it, but Mom is right and I should go live with Elizabeth. I told him it would be alright; that God will work out the details, we just have to have faith – like the patriarchs. Joseph was hollow and told me I should go with haste.

I just felt wings like butterflies in my womb.

Christmas List

Well, it would seem that it's that time of year again. Yes, Christmas (or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or, if your a Satanist, the Worst Day Ever). I feel all kinds of goodwill towards men, mostly so that they'll like me enough to buy me gifts.

So in order to help out, Here's my list of this year's trend-setting must-haves:

Gift Rap is essential to any gift-giving.

Remember the reason for the season.

I like practical gifts.

Can I get one of these that says "Don't be jealous, Han"?

It doubles as a fallout shelter, safe room and doesn't look that much like a coffin!

Nothing says "Christmas" like an ejector head!

Happy shopping!

Things I missed about America

Saturday, Nov. 28

We're on the plane back to the U.S. Here are some things I miss about America:

- English background conversation. I don't listen in, but I could if I wanted to!

- Copyright laws. Did I tell you that there was this familiar coffee shop with a green circle, white font and a woman at the circle's center? It was Leymo Coffee. And appropriately named (wish I had a photo of that one).

- Bush. Gavin's just not as good by himself. Has nothing to do with China, but I still miss them.

- Driver's education. I'd take any American 15 year old with a permit over a Chinese driver - unless I'm missing the emotion "terror" for some reason.

- Anonymity. Screaming Chinese children and expressionless stares aren't as fun as you might guess.

- Thanksgiving. Yeah, we totally missed it. We said "Happy Thanksgiving" to each other, but no cranberry sauce (in the shape of the can) or sweet tato pie this year.

- Pizza. Seafood sushi "party pizza" with BBQ sauce didn't quite hit the spot.

Chinese Srix Frags

Friday, Nov. 27

Another day where you either laugh at yourself or seethe. This resort is a sucktastic example of halfassism. Maybe when construction is complete, they'll have things like working escalators (the non-functional ones are everywhere for the convenience of the guests) and operational rides (we got to go on one in the whole place).

My son's appetite is back and there's a Pizza Hut at the resort. Pepperoni Pizza! We sat down and there's only one kind of "Party Pizza" - no description. But it's called "Party Pizza" so it's got to be good, right? umm...not so much. A party pizza has the same crust you're used to, but instead of tomato sauce they put on an oyster/BBQ sauce. Add on the cheese and then cut the square pizza into nine slices. The toppings are corn, carrots and bell peppers. On each slice is a special topping - either shrimp wrapped in seaweed or scallops on chinese broccoli or clam in a bed of bean curd. Authentic Italian pies need not apply, we're catering to a distinctly non-American palate.

I've decided the Chinese must like this resort because they can't get travel visas. They have fake Interlaken so they can see pseudo-German architecture. They go to the fake Grand Canyon (man made) because no way will the Chinese government allow its people to come to the U.S. They should really finish building the place before they allow tourists in.

On the funny side, I was a superstar at this place. All these schoolchildren where there and were very enthusiastic about seeing a Westerner. They would wave and giggle and some would say "Herro!" I passed by a whole herd of them, giving them high-fives and smiling even though it may make me look foolish to the adults.

Detained by Hong Kong Immigration

Thursday, Nov. 26

My son's still sick. He's burning up with fever and still has an upset stomach. My father-in-law had plans to take us all to a resort in China and was disappointed that we wouldn't be able to go. We took my son to the doctor who said he just needed rest. "Great! He can rest at the resort!" said my F-I-L.

We had already missed the tour bus, so we took a cab to the border. We were turned away because we didn't have the permits to drive into China. We then went to cross the border on foot only to discover that upon entering Hong Kong, our passports weren't stamped. Three hours in detention. I reframed the experience as better to discover the problem now rather than in the airport trying to leave the country. Furthermore, better to be detained on the Hong Kong side than in China...

The resort was laughable - still under construction! Our hotel had a sign that said they were still building the hotel, but promised that the noise would stop after 6pm. Thankfully, my son was so tired from the travel that the noise didn't phase him. FIL wanted to go to a show that night and wanted to wake up my son so he could enjoy it. I suggested I stay with him. When my son finally woke, he was fever free.

As for the humor, the whole day was darkly comic with a FIL having all these fantasies and fate standing in the way.

Chinese Soap Opera

Wednesday, Nov. 25

Still a little sick today. My son was told by his grandparents he could have anything he wanted in the store. I was so proud he didn't take advantage and just chose a Rubick's Cube. He had every opportunity and even permission to go crazy, yet he still was frugal and modest.

We had Dim Sum for lunch and there was a wide screen TV showing a Chinese soap opera. I leaned over to my son and began to "translate" for him. He quickly joined in telling a silly story that went a little something like this:

Scene 1: Granddaughter, Father and Grandmother are in an argument. Grandmother is crying. Father and Granddaughter are trying to teach her how to have a proper, throw yourself on the floor and wail kind of fit. Grandmother isn't a good student.

Scene 2: Two older women walk arm-in-arm with a younger woman between them. Their conversation is very serious. A new Olympic event called the "Four Legged Race" has been invented and each of the middle woman's legs has been tied to one of the other womens' legs. They're practicing for the gold.

Scene 3: Father, Grandmother, and Granddaughter are in a restaurant with Mother and another lady. The family is wondering why this unfamiliar lady has unexpectedly joined them for dinner and is eating their food!

Dinner was with more non-English speaking relatives. My son got sick and threw up in the bathroom. There was discussion that I gave him my illness. Furthermore, we took the train home and had to get off and on at every stop along the way so that my son could hurl.

The picture is of a pass on Song Mountain. You can see the old path below, covered in snow. There's an iron chain against the mountain face to hold on to and keep you from slipping. The new path is above, with the guardrail.

I'm on a boat!

Tuesday, Nov. 24

We cruised around Kowloon Bay on a boat that belongs to a family friend. He's a retired police chief of Hong Kong during British leasing of the island. Apparently, there's a good buck in that gig because he owns a single family dwelling with a yard and carport (most people live in high-rises and a parking spot can cost as much as your apartment), a car, two boats and a Philippino maid.

Afterwards, I took my son swimming against my protestations and better judgment. We ate - this group was smaller and it wasn't seafood, so I did better saying "no" and holding what little I did eat.

People speak Cantonese so quickly that I can't keep up. There was plenty of laughter, but I missed the jokes and I'm in a humorless mood. Usually, that's a great time to rely on my son to do or say something funny, but he's been consumed with a Nintendo DS game he hasn't been able to solve.

On returning to the U.S., I discovered that the above song was nominated for a Grammy. That's pretty hilarious considering the whole song is a satire poking fun at a particular genre of rap.

To Hong Kong

Monday, Nov. 23

I'm sick again today and worse than yesterday. I didn't sleep much at all and I'm physically weaker than I've been on the whole trip. Fortunately, no sight seeing today - we're flying to Hong Kong. But that also means I lug our suitcases around here and there. I couldn't take a mountain pass to a temple today.

I saw a Chinese Subaru commercial where the couple is driving through an idyllic countryside. They scatter autumn leaves and demonstrate superior handling while avoiding magpies. Upon arriving at their seaside destination, we discover he's in a tux and she's wearing a wedding dress. He places a ring on her finger and the camera zooms out. The shot reveals it wasn't a ring at all - he wed her with the keychain to the car!

Arrived in Hong Kong to a seafood banquet. I ate enough to be polite and regretted it. The in-laws got wind I was feeling ill and I was given a foul-smelling herbal remedy. The stuff is made from Philodendron bark, citrus peel and licorice root and I couldn't get the smell off my hands even though I only touched it for a second. It's a pill, so it landed in my hand then it was popped in my mouth and washed down. Still, the smell was on my fingers until morning. I suppose it worked because I didn't throw up. However, I was nauseated by burping up the stuff.

Chinese Jews

Sunday, Nov. 22

I've been sick for several days, and today has been the worst so far. My father used to joke that wherever we went travelling, I'd have to "leave my mark." He meant that sometime on the trip I would vomit. So far, that's been true of every long trip I've been on.

However, I'm not going to let a little stomach bug keep me from seeing China. I've walked and climbed and even Kung Fu'd a tree all with a queasy stomach, so I wasn't going to quit now.

The biggest surprise of the whole vacation came on this day. I'm suspicious of our "personal tour guides" and the relationships they have with the government. I've not expected to see any slums or poverty or anything that might reflect bad on China. So when we went to the "Old Jewish Quarter" of Kaifeng, I was taken aback.

The old synagogue was destroyed by flood and now a hospital stands on the spot. However, there is still "Teaching the Torah Lane" and it's in an impoverished part of town. The tour guide knew a Jewish ancestor named "Chao" who still lived at 21 Teaching the Torah Lane. The guide called her "Nah-Na" and she welcomed us into her home. It was just two rooms with a pot for cooking outside. One room was the bedroom and then there was a common room. The whole house was as big as an average master bedroom in the U.S. In the common room, she had a bit of a museum with menorahs, a painting of what the synagogue used to look like, a National Geographic article from 1910 about the Kaifeng Jews and about half a dozen brochures. Nah-Na seemed over eighty and smiled easily to foreign strangers.

Today's bit of humor: My wife can't allow herself to use a squatting toilet, so whenever my son goes to a bathroom, he checks the stalls. He dutifully reports to her if there are sit-down potties.

Shaolin Temple

Saturday, Nov. 21

So ever since David Carradine did the show "Kung Fu," I wanted to visit the Shaolin Temple. I wanted to lift boiling pots with my forarms and snatch pebbles from blind monks' hands. Shaolin began Zen Buddhism and its Kung Fu is the grandfather of all martial arts.

I was surprised to find that it rests in a valley of Song Mountain, not at the peak. There are about 300 monks who live there and they can choose to learn Kung Fu or not. But seriously, who would choose to join the Shaolin Temple, of all the dozens of local monestaries - the one with the longest and most famous history of fighting styles, and then say "No thank you, Kung Fu isn't really my thing"?! Apparently the current abbot! The abbots are only selected from monks devoted to Shaolin. Monks from other monasteries would be rejected for that particular job. So this guy spent his entire monastic career at the Shaolin Temple and never took a Kung Fu lesson!

That's just about the saddest thing I've ever heard. If I were the abbot admitting him for the first time, the conversation might go something like this:

Raesh: ...and this will be your dorm. Kung Fu lessons start promptly at oh-six hundred, right after morning meditation.
Future Abbot: I don't really want to do that.
Raesh: I'm sorry; are you ill?
Future Abbot: No, I just am not all that interested in Kung Fu. Maybe I could sweep the courtyard or something.
R: You want to sweep?
FA: Sure! Or maybe I could cook while you guys are working out.
R: Cook...? Son, you realize this is the SHAOLIN temple, right? Here at the Shaolin Temple we kick ass. Not only was the phase "ass kicking" coined here, we stardardized and developed metrics to evaluate the severity of delivered ass kickings. And you're here to sweep and cook?
FA: Yes sir.
R: Some advice for you, son. Pack up your apron and make-up bag and go to the temple monestery at other side of the mountain. I hear they founded Jazzercise there.

After you enter the front gate, there are all these stele telling the history of the temple and its monks. Interspersed among them are Ginko trees (of Ginko Biloba fame) with all these divots in them.


These divots were made in a simple 4 step process:

1) Make a gun with your hand like you did as a child
2) Shoot the "gun" leaving your thumb down
3) Extend your middle finger directly under your pointer
4) Jam your fingers as hard as you can into a Ginko tree over and over again until you make a divot

Yeah, I know! Crazy. Of course I did it. Once. Instead of deepening an existing hole, I decided to start my own. I'm pretty impressed with myself that I broke off a piece of bark and my finger stopped hurting after only 10 minutes. My son wussed out. He wouldn't even stick his finger in a pre-made hole to pretend for a picture.

Did you know that the official snack vending partner of the Shaolin Temple is "Youcky Food Co, LTD"? True story.

Longmen Grottos and White Horse Temple

Friday, Nov. 20

Longmen Grottos were on the agenda today, which are a series of man-made caves all devoted to Buddha. The largest is the size of Mount Rushmore/Stone Mountain and the smallest is about 2cm. Our guide said few were carved out of devotion, many of them were carved for political reasons (the Mount Rushmore Buddha is said to have the face of an Empress). Only the oldest were carved by the faithful.

I've been a bit of a celebrity in China. This is off-season for tourism and many Chinese visit these places because of lower prices and fewer crowds. As a result, I'm just about the only Westerner around. My coat is blue, so my eyes aren't their normal grey. They're blue and the provincial Chinese haven't seen much of that. Smiling is considered foolish, juvenile or unseemly and the Chinese are giving me a lot of blank-faced eye contact. I've had my picture taken half a dozen times by young Chinese and at the Longman Grottos there were a few Red Army soldiers who waved at me like schoolchildren.

The oldest Buddhist temple in China is nearby, called the White Horse Temple. Originally called the White Horse Bar and Inn, the first monks stayed at the Inn at the request of the Emperor. In time, the Emperor remodelled the tavern and made it into a temple. Every summer, the monks here save turtles and carp from the market with their spare change. They release them in the temple pond.

Our hotel is by far the most Western we've had, with all the amenities like recessed lighting and a sit-down toilet. However, the shower had a sign that reads:

Night Train to Louyang

Thursday, Nov. 19

We had a last visit on Wudang Mountain to the Prince Palace. It wasn't built for a prince nor is it a palace. This area of the temple complex was named because the brightest children were educated here - ostensibly to become government officials (princes). It's really a large dormitory (palace) with a temple. They built the main street to follow the contour of the mountain.

Wudang is like a shanshui painting. The mountains don't rise above the treeline, so they're all capped with evergreens. Mists roll in alternately obscuring and revealing the landscape and when they're thick the peaks look like islands in a sea of vapor. The temples are built as part of the mountain rather than trying to dominate it. In fact, the whole of human occupation is insignificant to the enormity and majesty of the nature surrounding it.

We took a night train to Louyang, but arrived shortly after dark. The train was easily as old as me and it had this old-world charm. If it were at night, you might walk by a cabin and find a gypsy telling a businessman's fortune in one car. In another, a man wearing a linen suit would be seducing a young wife while her new husband sleeps in the bunk above. Another car might have grifters - men with crooked smiles and women with bright, flowing skirts - playing a game of chance. A missionary couple with too much luggage and a secret, a man who smokes cigars so you can't tell his sweat smells like stone, a linguist with an unnerving twitch carrying a sheathed sword he never lets go of, a preteen Chinese girl dressed for a party with a bow in her hair but with her fingertips chewed up, a big Texan with a big hat and a big mouth travelling with his Hungarian accountant (half his size, who looks suspiciously like a bodyguard), a woman says her name is Spring but she has three personalities named April, May and June...

Sadly, none of these people were on our train. Maybe they got on at our stop, but our leg the ride was largely banal - full of cigarette smoke and an overactive radiator. We did get to see this sign, though:

Wudangshan

Wednesday, Nov. 18

Today we're at Wundang Mountain - the birthplace of both Taoism and Tai'chi. This temple complex suggests the kind of remote mountain temple you see in the movies. There are thousands of snowy steps up the mountain and it's altogether picturesque. Most of the temple complex was built at the same time as the Forbidden City (if nothing else, those Ming Dynasty Emperors did a lot of building) and has similar architecture.

The picture taken above was from a guardtower with the standard camera from my son's Nintendo DSi. I wish it could capture the the mountains that were surrounding the lens and the mists and the chill and the smell of evergreens mixed with incense and the wonder of the entire experience.

I was hoping to hike my way up, but it was so cold and the path so steep that the family voted to take the cable car to the highest peak. Even so, there were plenty more stairs. At one point, my son refused to climb any further and he and his mother turned back.

I continued on to the highest temple, the "Golden Palace." It's about the size of a toolshed in the U.S. and the brass gate that gave the shrine its name in antiquity has since tarnished. There was a single Taoist priest manning the altar, but my tour guide said he wasn't taking questions from tourists.

I'm not sure I believe him. For one, this is the same guide who explained the tenants of Taoism as "the Ming Emperor used Taoism to keep the poor people in their place. You must be content with your vegetables (vegetarians are not strong; they can't overthrow the government) and you have some work, so you should be happy and content." And another thing, what priest doesn't like to talk about his religion? I think the tour guide didn't want to waste his time, breath and the precious firing of neurons translating all that religious drivel.

I'm sure something humorous happened, but I've had an attitude of reverence and awe most of the day.

Ming Tombs, Sacred Way, Great Wall of China

Tuesday, Nov. 17

In the same way the Forbidden City failed to meet expectations, the Great Wall exceeded them. I expected to see a really long wall. Whoop-tee-do. Wrong! The magnificence of the Great Wall is they didn't try to overwhelm or conquer nature in building the wall. They went along with it.

The Forbidden City sought to extinguish nature and rebuild it better in its own image. The gardens are paved over with little holes for the trees to grow out of. The river that runs through the city is encased in stone. Even the "wild" parts are clearly structured and tamed.

Not the Great Wall. It's out in the mountains and valleys and surrounded by beauty and no-man's land. It looks like the Spine of the World. Looking out, nature is unspoiled but for a path that follows the easiest route over the top of the mountains.

My son and I ran the wall until he tired. We climbed up steps to a peak and photographed from above. It was fantastic and unbelievable to run as father and son down the Great Wall.

As we were driving, I saw a hotel shuttle bus with the name "Beijing 100% Perfect Hotel." I quickly pointed out that they have a lot to live up to and my son promptly states," I don't believe they're 100% perfect because they don't have peace, holiness and fellowship." I laughed even harder at his private Christian school education when he adds (for his father's benefit), "But I won't tell them. I'll give that to them and know it's wrong in my mind."

My discerning and wise diplomat!

Tienamen Square, Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven and Summer Palace

Monday, Nov. 16

I can't believe I'm writing this, but the Forbidden City is not as impressive as you would imagine or as it's portrayed in movies. My usual take is that film can't capture the scope or grandeur of a place. Any cathedral presented in a movie is horribly deficient. The Forbidden City is indeed grand with lots of buildings and courtyards, however for a national treasure, it's not well kept. Print is fading, only 5 or 6 of 999 rooms are "restored," meaning they are furnished at all. The rest have closed doors.

Those rooms that are reconstructed have one of two crowd control options. Either ropes keep you 20 yards away (like the emperor's audience room) - making me wish I had binoculars to see the detail - or this thick reflective glass is over the doors and windows that glares so badly, it's impossible to take in the whole room at once (like the empress's bedroom)- resembling a darkened room investigated with a handheld flashlight.

Truth be told, when Chaiman Mao was marching on Beijing, the palace was looted by the fleeing government. The treasures were taken to Taiwan because the Communists had no respect for religion or previous regimes. They feared that the ancient treasures would be melted down and turned into currency, so they took all they could. Now, the Communists have little more than the buildings and the Taiwanese have little more than their relics.

In front of many doors in China are a pair of lions on each side of the entryway. The female is on the left as you enter, the male is on the right. The female lion has a cub she's playing with. The male holds what looks like a ball under his paw. The Forbidden City has many such lions.

Tour guide: While the female is caring for the cub on the left, do any of you know what the male is doing?

My son: Playing soccer?

First Impressions - Beijing

Sunday, Nov. 15

We arrived at Beijing today. A Chinese Opera House backs right up to our hotel. I was hoping we could go to a show this first night, but they aren't performing.

My seven year old boy did great on the plane. I worried that he'd get restless, bored and start acting out. He *did* get restless and bored, but didn't act out. I'm always facinated by what people talk about once all the polite plesantries and usual topics of conversation are exhausted.

For me, I made a pointy finger with one hand then hit it with another. It swung wildly then started zeroing in like a compass. It pointed at my son and I said "Look! I've got a Favorite Boy Detector. And it works, because you're my favorite boy!"

He did the same thing, but it pointed at his mother across the aisle and behind us. I informed him that his Favorite Boy Detector was clearly misaligned because it didn't even point to a boy.

My first impression of Beijing is that people are used to waiting in lines. There's almost no line "chivalry" where one might let a woman or elderly person ahead. They don't mind separating parents keeping up with their nimble children or lovers holding hands. It's a free-for-all to get what they want from a line. I saw a bus station FULL of people with six busses lined up. The tour guide explained public transportation is good, easy to use and travels everywhere - if you get an opportunity to use it.

Going to China

I'm going to China tomorrow. I have this fantasy where I'm visiting a monastery on one of the holy mountains (can I pick? I choose Wudang). The "personal tour guide" gives me a break and I can do a bit of hiking around the temple area. At this time of year, it's cold and stark but the mists make it look like a shanshui painting.

I serendipitously come across a monk meditating. I join him, trying to imitate his pose and serenity. He senses the wild, undisciplined thoughts that continually interrupt the emptiness of my mind. He asks, in English, "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me how you can be both compassionate and dispassionate."

I'll give the G.I. Joe back already!

So this rich young man comes to Jesus and asks what he has to do to get into Heaven. Jesus replies the usual, "don't kill anyone, don't steal peoples' stuff, don't sleep around," etc. The young man says he's done all this, but being the introspective sort, he asks, "what do I lack?" Jesus then says, "sell all you have and give it to the poor - you will have treasure in Heaven. Then come follow me." The Scripture tells us the wealthy young man heard this and went away, sad.

I am that young man.

In many ways I'm very wealthy. Though compared to other Americans I probably make less than average for my age and education; if I'm compared to the world I'm fantastically wealthy...the average income of a world citizen in 2008 was $7000.

Like the young man in the story, I haven't killed anyone or stolen anything (okay not true. But I can't find Billy Ohmstead to give back his Snake-Eyes with the twisty-waist action) or slept with anyone else's wife. And like the young man, I'm not really satisfied with the "I haven't done anything bad, therefore I must be good" logic.

If Jesus beheld and stood at my door and knocked in a white robe with a red sash, I'd invite him in and sup with him. But if he said you're lacking one thing - sell all this, give it to the poor and then leave to follow me, then I would very sadly tell him "No."

I'm ashamed to admit it. I'd like to say that I'm devoted enough and kind-hearted toward the poor enough and free enough to follow through on that kind of command. Truth is, I like knowing that I'm covered for my next meal. I want to guarantee my son's education for as long as he can stand being in school. I have responsibilities and obligations that cannot be fulfilled without money.

My portfolio is fully aware that black line graph is transient and in flux. I recognize that all manner of catastrophes (or, more poignantly "Acts of God") could make everything I have worthless. But I can't reliquish the control. If he really wants it, God will have to take it from me. I'm not going to give all of it away. It's failure. It's defiant.

I'd look into the brown eyes of the man who traded places with me in death-the one whose life I'm supposed to be substituting-and I'd say in my best here's-the-bad-news voice, "Yeah. Well, about that giving away everything to the poor part..."

Unremembered

His name is a whisper on the lips
Of the Passer-by.
He walks nameless streets and enters unmarked houses.
Surrendering significance for forgetting,
He moves unremembered in a slipping of the mind.
Attention is not his to keep, and though he has yours now,
It is certain to fade without intervention from Fate.
Already his features build cobwebs in your memory,
Even as you try to recall them.
Only the twin suns of his eyes remain.
Indistinctly, he passes you and steps into the
Artifice of Destiny.

Subconscious Flood

I dreamt there was a flood. I swim better than most and I was helping rescue people. I would swim out to a house and carry people lifeguard style to safety one by one. The water kept rising and I am more and more tired. My muscles are screaming, but I make myself swim out, take on the weight of another person and swim back.

I know this is going to be my last run. The water moves too fast and rises too high. I swim to where an overweight woman and her baby are chest-deep, even standing on their roof. I tell her to give me the baby. I promise her I'll be back for her. I lie.

I have no intention of coming back. I'm too exhausted. It's too dangerous now. I'll save her child, but she's going to die. But I lie to her and give her false hope so I don't have to face her realization and her sorrow. It's just easier to take the baby and deliver a weak promise.

I wake up disgusted with myself.

I should write more.

Here are some more story ideas:

Time travelling thieves steal great works of art. Things that are "missing" in our time (faberge eggs, Leonardo da Vinci's "Medusa," Michaelangelo's " Sleeping Cupid," etc.) have been stolen by art thieves from the future. Of course, time-travelling art police follow them, but the thieves are the ones we're rooting for. Heheh ...Art Police... Stop! In the name of Post-Modern Impressionism!

This is probably more of a novel concept than a short story: Adam and Eve in the first year after exile from Eden. They see the entire Earth dying (changing seasons from Fall to Winter) and blame themselves and each other for their sin. The story of their relationship follows the seasons from Summer - when they're first exiled to the following Spring - when they accept and forgive one another and Cain is born with all the wonder and promise of new humanity. A sequel following Cain, Abel and Seth would make millions!

A Nazi officer loots the French countryside after the German invasion. In one of the chateaus he finds the stabbed Picture of Dorian Grey and absconds with it. The painting is restored, but as the war progresses, Dorian's painting transforms into a painting of the Nazi. Following Wilde, the officer first indulges in his power, cruelty and hedonism and the picture becomes more horrible. Unlike Wilde, the Nazi never is repentant and displays his painting with pride and revels vampire-like in his immortality.

Wanna make a million bucks?

Periodically, I get these ideas for getting rich. This is my latest:

There hasn't been a ground-breaking Christian dating book I've heard of since "I Kissed Dating Goodbye." We should start the next fad and call it "Jesus Is My Wingman." We could relate what a wingman does in the secular dating world with how Jesus does the same thing spiritually and emotionally.

For example, your wingman supports you in approaching the opposite gender - Jesus fills you with confidence so that you can approach anyone, not just attractive people. Plus, Jesus can help you see the inner beauty of others and more importantly yourself. Your wingman distracts the "friends" so you can keep focused on your "target" - Jesus took your sin and now you're free to seek God. Plus having Jesus as your wingman is evangelism!

However, that won't make a million bucks.

What WILL rake in the cash is the merchandizing. Seminars on DVD, T-Shirts, the novel series (one for young adults and one for grown-ups), and the official "Jesus Is My Wingman" Study Bible. Once that gets underway, we'll squash that "Chicken Soup for the Soul" section with "Jesus Is My Wingman for..." Adolescents...Divorcees...Widow/ers...Single Moms...Over 40...

Call me if you know a publisher. I'll let you in on a portion of the profits.

Nice Dream, Jellybean.

My son has had a fever for three days. As a result, he's had strange dreams. This one he had sounds like a fairy tale:

There's a witch who's spreading evil in the land. My son and some friends killed her and she collapsed. As she hit the floor, her body spilled into thousands of jellybeans.

He decided the jellybeans were evil and he should not eat them, but one of his friends, a girl, put some in her pocket. When she ate them, she turned into the witch.

There's a moral in there somewhere. I just have to find it...

... _ _ _ ...

You've retired and spent all your retirement savings on a sailboat. It's not the biggest, fastest or most luxurious, but it's yours and gives you a few years of good memories when you find yourself in a dire situation. While sleeping, your ship lost anchor and is now headed toward a waterfall. You're a pretty savvy sailor and recognize that you've probably past the point of no return; the boat will go over the falls. However, it's dark and you're not certain - but the thousands of gallons falling hundreds of feet are loud enough to have woken you from your slumber and very, very near. You have the following choices:

A) Fight with all you've got to try and save the ship and your possessions. It's probably too late and the kind of maneuvering required will most likely tear up the hull and sail, but you've got to try to save your investment. Likelihood of survival is tiny.

B) Go down with the ship. You've had a good retirement; you can't start over with nothing. You resign yourself to your fate and enjoy what is bound to be your last moments alive. Likelihood of survival is virtually non-existent.

C) Spend what little time you have tearing down the sail and making a parachute for yourself in true MacGuyveresque fashion. You might get out with one prized possession from the boat (though the boat itself is doomed without its sail). Likelihood of survival is excellent, but you'll have lost almost everything.

What do you do?

Does your answer change if instead of stowing possessions, you're sailing with your best friend? The extra help increases your option A) likelihood of survival to "small" and the extra weight decreases your option C) likelihood of survival to "great." Option B) will continue to condemn you both to certain death, but you've got a nice bottle of wine you've been saving up for a special occasion...

Quick, write these stories before I forget them!

A warlock or evil priest enters a town known for its righteousness with the intent of polluting and destroying it. Rather than corrupting the town, he is himself transformed, arousing the anger of his dark gods.

A young Japanese man discovers an Oni who may be either benevolent or harmful. The Oni will grant him three wishes in genie style and the young man decides this is a good spirit, a Kami. He makes wishes for wealth and success, enlightenment and hedonism and finally for eternity. It is this last wish that the Oni demonstrates his true nature and betrays the man.

A woman wakes up each morning with the distinct but unprovable belief that she died the night before in her sleep. She seeks the advice of doctors and sleep specialists, metaphysicists and existentialists and finally a voodoo queen. The voodoo queen reveals she is a disembodied consciousness who lives the last day of women's lives.

Psalm of the Serene

When you came for me
I was beset with smiles of ravenous teeth.
Your form eclipsed the sun. You hovered above,
Rotating the world to where you must go.

In fear, I dared not cry out.
I was silenced by your horrid splendor.
It glimpsed you and thirst for unbearable things.
Desire gripped me by the throat.

Your dispassionate gaze boiled
Over-I thoughts.
Without hate or pleasure you cast your shadow
And my I was flayed.
You felt no joy or cruelty
Bisecting soul from flesh.

You purchased me with blood.
I was bought with a price of viscera.
Unburdened by conscience,
Your will is as immovable as your plum lips.

All my life I waited for you
Unaware of my anticipation.
In time I'll care nothing for you
And become one of your own.

Fallout of the Mountaintop Experience

The effect of Abraham's trial with Isaac had devastating effects on his family. Right as he's coming off the Mount Moriah, Scripture tells us that "Abraham returned to his men and they rose and went together to Beersheba; and Abraham dwelt in Beersheba (Gen 22:19)." What about Sarah? What about Isaac? It is assumed they were with him, but would that be a correct assumption?

Genesis 23:2 "So Sarah died in Kirjath Arba (that is, Hebron)..." Well, Abraham was a nomad. This might not be unusual for someone who moves around a lot. But we read on "...and Abraham came to mourn for Sarah and to weep for her." Came from where? When he addresses the Sons of Heth, Abraham says "I am a foreigner and a visitor among you. Give me property...so I may bury my dead (23:4)." Abraham did not know the native Hittites and was not familiar with them. What had happened between Abraham and Sarah that was so traumatic to the relationship that they separated?

Isaac did not fare any better in his life. He is the least spiritual of all the patriarchs and though he receives God's blessing, his spiritual story is incredibly short. The faithfulness of Abraham's servant finding Isaac's wife is longer than the description of Isaac's entire adult life. God appears to him twice. The first time he obeys God (26:6). The second time he builds an altar (26:25). Other than that, Isaac is the bridegroom for Rebeka in the story of Abraham's faithful servant; he digs wells and gets into quarrels, but runs away whenever there is a conflict; at the end of his life, Isaac is the mark to his crafty son, Jacob. As far as patriarchs go, Isaac is a wash.

There is a commonly held belief that we view God through the filter of our father. A kind, understanding father or a fair but demanding father or a harsh and punitive father or even an absent father can establish our foundational beliefs about the Heavenly Father. What do you learn about God when your father ties you up and is about to stab you in the heart? Does it help when Abraham says he's doing this because God told him to? Was it reassuring when Abraham said "I'm glad I didn't have to kill you back there."? What about when Mom and Dad are arguing about the whole ordeal and Abraham justifies the act by saying "but I knew that God would have raised him from the dead!"? Did Isaac ever sleep well again in his father's company? Did he ever turn his back on his father? Was he always looking at what might be in Abraham's hand? How old was Isaac when he finally worked through the experience enough to build an altar himself?

Abraham, with his obedience, destroyed his family in deep, fundamental ways. His wife couldn't bear to be in the same town with him. He ruined his son's relationship with the God he followed so blindly.

Abraham's Epic Fail

Abraham holds high respect among Jews, Christians and Muslims for his famous demonstration of faith in his willingness to sacrifice his son. Genesis 22 tells how God asks Abraham to make a burnt offering of his son and the patriarch dutifully does the deed. Just as Isaac is about to become a a postscript in Biblical studies, there is a divine intervention and the boy is saved.

I find this story horribly offensive. Call me unfaithful or disobedient or sinful, but I would tell God "no" should he ever ask that of me. Let me rephrase. Not only would I say "no," but "hell no" - knowing full well I'm rebelling against the creator of the universe who can dish out Job-esque punishments to make this life and the next full of torment. Did I make myself clear? HELL NO!

I've come to the conclusion that maybe my response is right and Abraham was wrong. Allow me to rationalize my sinful disobedience: what if the test was not a test of obedience, but a test of human compassion? Abraham pretty much proves his obedience time and again. Let me break it down for you.

God himself speaks to Abraham (not an uncommon occurrence to this point) and says "Take now your son, your only son, whom you love...and offer him as a burnt offering (Gen 22:2)." Abraham doesn't express shock (infanticide is a common religious practice at the time); he doesn't protest, doesn't negotiate and doesn't refuse. He wakes up early to get 'er done.

Note that Isaac is old enough to walk and talk and carry enough wood for a bonfire (Gen 22:6-7). He's old enough to question and become suspicious of his own father's motives. I'd venture to say he's old enough to remember this event into his adulthood. At what point did Isaac start crying in terror? As he was being bound, did he try to reason with his father? Plead for his life? Did Abraham turn a deaf ear or did he tell his son that this was all God's will? How deep did the ropes cut as Isaac fought to free himself? When Abraham raised the knife did Isaac scream or wince or just weep in hopeless acceptance?

When Abraham draws back the knife, just before the point of no return, he is stopped. By God's messenger. I've been in a corporate job long enough to know what it means when the boss doesn't want to deal with you anymore. Arrange it with my secretary. I'm going to let the district manager handle it from here. Call my people. God himself makes the request, but he sends a lackey to stop the horror. Abraham screwed up. Screwed up so bad God doesn't want any more to do with him. No where else in scripture does God, or even a messenger of God for that matter, speak to Abraham ever again.

Why would God do this? I mean, the text reads "because you have not withheld your son, your only son, I will bless you (Gen 22:16-17)." Wait a second, what did he say before as he was giving the command? He forgot to say something. A little prepositional phrase "whom you love." In the way my Bible is edited these two verses appear nearly side-by-side in two columns and that phrase is clearly missing. In a part of the Scripture criticized by modern readers as being too repetitive why isn't this blessing just repeated rote from the original decree? I'd venture it's because Abraham failed this test of love and compassion.

What about the blessing Abraham gets? Surely that means he was faithful and did what God wanted, right? Well, the reward is really nothing new, just a reiteration of the covenant already given. God's messenger is acting the gameshow host. "Awww. Nice try, but you didn't win this challenge. Don't feel bad though, you've still won $800 and a new cuisinart from the obedience round!" Abraham lost. He failed. This time, God didn't want obedience - he wanted lovingkindness.

Remember how I postulated that Isaac was old enough to remember this event? Next blog I'll talk about the consequences.

Time Travelling with Phil Collins

I was on hold at work and they had piped in muzak of Phil Collins' "One More Night." I was transported from my high-powered cubicle job to a simpler time: My Junior High Prom. Never had a school cafeteria been so magical! With a mirrorball, balloon arches and fold-out tables complete with tablecloths and the finest plastic punch bowls Fort Bend ISD's recreation budget could afford!

I wore my brand new one-size-too-big-oh-you'll-grow-into-it three piece suit and prowled the room. And by prowled the room, I mean stood against the back wall lifting my chin up to the ladies in the universal sign of "sup?" (That's a shortcut to awesome and I don't mind telling you about it so long as you give me the credit.)

I had gone stag for a very good reason. My mother told me that girls never settle for the first thing that comes their way. This was the first dance of the year and no way was I going to be a sucker. Instead, I'd play the field. Keep my options open. Show them I don't need them and thereby amplifying my own desirability. The game is mystery and I was its pre-adolescent master.

Gentle reader, I must confess that I did not cut a proverbial rug that night. However, you must remember how fragile the feminine self-esteem is at that tender age. How would it have felt to have not been the first girl asked out on the dance floor? How could I have crushed so many budding flowers? I'm certain there are a score of women who quietly, in their heart of hearts, thank me for my restraint.

Domesticated

A whiff of your sorrow
And I consider you with wolfish eyes
And pant at you under my toothy smile.
You whisper what a good boy I am.
I would devour you
If only I weren't leashed.

God in Nature

"Let all the earth fear the Lord; Let all the world stand in awe of him" -Psa. 33:8



I went canoeing on a river today and I wondered about God's influence in nature. Rashi, the 11th Century Hebrew scholar, says that in Genesis 1, there are strong implications in the Hebrew that nature was rebelling against God as it was created. This seems to indicate that as God kept imbuing nature with more and more consciousness, he expected more and more obedience or conformity until ultimately he created mankind with high expectations.

I'm not sure I agree with Rashi. I think that nature reflects God quite well. It's both terrible and beautiful, just like God. God inspires both fear and awe. God can create both an idyllic heaven and a torturous hell; it doesn't surprise me that nature can be cruel and lovely. Predators prey on the elderly and the young, not because predators are cruel, but because they want an easy meal with the smallest chance of getting hurt themselves. In the same way, the predator's dispassionate efficiency holds a certain measure of grace and beauty.

But nature also holds a great magnificence that can manifest itself on a quiet river with a bored little boy. Once the novelty wore off and the "I'm bored"s stopped, the creative imagination of a child was laid over the micro-dramas of natural life.

I saw a reflection of a facet of God in a fish that ate a water bug, a turtle that fled from the smell of man, a boy with his fingers in the water, a treeline that blocked the sun, the light rain and flood of complaints, water flowing miles and miles to a destination that cannot be perceived. And, for the first time in a long time, I saw a glimpse of a reflection of God as a father steered a canoe towards low-hanging branch while his son, hands outstretched, squealed in delight.

The Interpretation of Dreams

The ancients were the first to ascribe meaning to dreams and humanity as continued the pursuit. Whether it's a divine prophecy or a wish fulfillment fantasy or a evolutionary rehearsal of survival behavior in an unconscious mind, we still find our dreams moving.

I believe that dreams are the consolidation of emotional leftovers played out in the puppet theater of our minds. They shouldn't be interpreted literally because their very nature is the antithesis of literal interpretation - instinctual, subconscious and emotive. Punch and Judy aren't about plot, they're about character.

The best interpretations draw emotional parallels and bring the unconscious to the cognizant arena. Dreams come from an older part of our brain that was less concerned about keeping the lawn mowed and more concerned about surviving a primitive world. Though the dream images may be modern, the emotions and conflicts reflect universal human experiences from any time. Dreams remind us that despite the evolution of society, at our core we are still tribals surviving in a natural world.

This is my dream from last night:

I'm outside the city and I'm going on a journey. Looking away from the Israeli landscape back toward the edge of town, a group of people gather around a statue with a red drape covering. They're well-wishers and they give me little gifts for the road ahead. One gives me a walking stick, several give me fruit, someone gives me a river stone.

I'm gracious in the polite way people are supposed to be we receiving a gift from a stranger or an in-law. I smile and bow slightly, showing my teeth and offering my hand. My final gift is the statue. Someone pulls off the red drape. Lot's wife stands frozen in salt with her head cocked back. She's looking at all life owes her.

The crowd awes and I'm sure I smell rain coming.

Things I think about while walking the dog

- Whenever my boss asks me to do something, I should give a Japanese bow and reply "by your command."

- Fist-pumping Wolverine is not a good idea.

- If I had a word-a-day calendar and today's word was "inasmuch" and I had a lisp, it would sound like "an ass munch."

- Why is intellectualizing bad in psychotherapy when the purpose is to change your feelings by changing your thinking?

- It's hard to use the words "bastard" and "Dali Lama" in the same sentence.

Words don't make good bones

Words don't make good bones.
Don't try to rib up your lungs
With a sublime or grotesque poem,
Or everything that makes you upright
Will vanish at the speed of sound.