There’s few things in life that are genuinely ours, the rest are
owned by other people. Banks, government, and loan sharks have some
kind of control on our lives. They guide us in to financial success or
humanity’s deepest pits. They can provide inalienable abilities, or
they can ruin us. But there’s something that these, and other, entities
can’t take from us.

    Language. And today when our new President has a firm grasp on
language, when he doesn’t make up words and say them incorrectly, he
still doesn’t have what we are able to create ourselves. We have
possibilities, no matter what is happening to create and dream, to hope
and wonder what language can do for us. I suppose that we don’t really
know this until we are trapped in a dark wintery night, when the cold
air writhes our bodies and our souls yearn for hope. Its in these
nights when we develop language that isn’t a construct created for us,
but it is pattern of emotion and beauty that we create for others. They
are simple phrases that bring us to reality and drive us towards
something better. Indeed, language allows to us hope so hard and so
fast that we begin to think in these terms: something better.

    On these nights, there are a few phrases that bring me out of a
place of desperation. Some are so intimate that I hesitate to reveal
them to you. They are mine and they will remain mine. But there is one
that I am willing to share. Welcome home. Is there nothing more
beautiful than this creation of acceptance and sustainability? No
matter what happens; no matter how our economy leads us or where the
war will take us there is always home. No even home, but a welcome home.

    Its what a prodigal son wants to hear. Its what a prodigal father wants to say.

    Welcome home.

    It gives me chills. You know, the kind that you doubt because
you’re uncomfortable to feel. This phrase that I hesitate to write
again, for fear that it will lose meaning, offers a dream that we
rarely dream. It offers meaning that we rarely become aware of. There’s
connotation to these words, things that pop up in our minds when we
hear something. It happens with everything. Like, when I think of
Nuclear Towers, I think of fishing in Rancho Sacho Lake with dear
friends that are now far away. But with this phrase, I think of
something more beautiful. I think of hope. I think of the glimmers of
hope that I have seen in life where just for a moment, heaven has
touched earth and life is beginning to be restored. I think of a story
of a father in Spain who had a falling out with his son. Years have
passed and they hadn’t talked. One day he sent in an ad into the paper
saying, “Pedro, I’m sorry. Meet me in the Center to see Papa.” When the
father arrived in the City Square, there were hundreds of Pedros,
desperately longing to be welcomed home.

    I think need these phrases that we speak to ourselves to keep us
going throughout the days. They are short simply things that allow us
to dream. Hold on to them; they’re yours. Because hope is hard to come
by these days, even in an era of change.


Daniel

Sometimes we do things we just don’t want to do. They happen inexplicably and random. We fight and struggle until body heaves and shakes, our hearts pound and hands move to their own rhythm in fear. Tonight is one of those moments.
There isn’t anything terribly wrong, but there is enough that’s requiring me to avoid going to bed. You see, lying in bed is a chance for my thoughts to catch up with me, and tonight, these thoughts don’t need to catch up. They’re here. Sometimes our minds tend to bottle neck our thoughts. It takes everything that we think we’re okay, destroy the presuppositions and push forward our crap that we need to deal with; despite ever effort to sustain and avoid, something pushes this forward. Believe this or not, its your call, but we all have our own demons to fight. We have our things that bind and enslave us, they hold us back from potential and reality, they keep us from freedom and simply life.
In these types of nights, we sit back and think about life. Where we came from, where we are and we attempt to weigh what matters. But tonight it seems like the scales are tipped away from me, which is fine, but it seems like this isn’t even my game to play—it’s someone else’s. What a brutal game it is to try to always one up the other person, to always want more and never relinquishing power.
After all, control is what we want in life. We want to control our neurotic thoughts when we’re depressed. We want to control our economy when we’re losing money. We want to control our politics when the other guy wins. We want control. And at the very heart of our control is the need to create, sustain and maximize our reality—the very thing that we have created for ourselves that makes uncomfortable.
I don’t know where you are in life, but for me, I’m finding it hard to control reality. My eyes are getting heavy and I can’t help but think about these things I shouldn’t. We all do things we don’t want to do, I guess its simply a matter perspective and acceptance. Oh, and relinquishing.

Daniel

    The other day I was standing in line at the grocery store with some friends. We were waiting to be checked out when I saw a box of cookies—being the starving boy that I am, I grabbed the cookies and looked at them. They were beautiful: round and sugary, a slice of heaven in a white box. There were about 12 of them and I knew that I could eat them in a half hour with out even the slightest stomach ach. But as I lusted of these beauties my friend looked at my face, then my stomach. With his boney finger pushed it into my stomach. Poke. Dan, you’re getting a little pudgy. With that I placed the cookies down, zipped up my sweatshirt and crossed my arms. I looked away uncomfortably. I don’t think I’m fat but somehow his comment resonated with something that made me uncomfortable.
    And in the last 48 hours I occasionally look down at my average stomach and I think, am I really and dough boy?  Of course not.
    We all say things that we don’t mean. A lot of the time we think that these things are nothing, just simple comments but every once in awhile we realize that these little comments have meaning. Words have power. They can create or destroy, inspire or tear down.
    We create our lives around words and ideas. Ideas are identified with sounds from our vocal chords; these chords are related phonetically where we mark and scribble on parchments or pieces of paper. Boom, language is created and Dan is fat. So what does this mean? I have no idea, but it seems to me that there is meaning to language and the way it can make us feel, act and respond. It can make us feel uncomfortable or happy, meaningful or depraved. Language resonates with something inside us that causes us to respond. Even now, as I write and you are reading and something is happening inside you that is bringing you to conclusions and feelings that you didn’t expect. You are reacting. You are feeling as a result of language.
    This isn’t about psychology though. This is about us. When we bring language to the table of community we bring something that we all can respond to. When we speak we bring everything that we have to offer and give it unconditionally to another person. Language causes us to be vulnerable. If I ask you to listen with me to a song I am pouring myself into an experience with you. We become intimately connected into the same experience—and it starts with language.
    So when my friend jokingly says that I’m getting pudgy while he pokes my stomach, there is something to what he is saying. It has meaning. It has purpose.  But how many times do we reflect on the things people say to us, or more over, how many times do we reflect the on the things that we say. If language has the possibility to destroy or cause doubt, than it also has the possibility for the alternative. Language can create hope; language can create life. And isn’t that what we want to do any way, promote life? Isn’t that what Jesus offers us? He invites us to live our lives differently, with meaning and purpose. He invites us to re-imagining language, not as a tool for destruction, but as a tool for created a better world, a better existence. Who knows what this means for us as people, but it least causes us to think about what we saying. And allow us to act and live differently.

Daniel

I was eighteen years old when I was first told I wasn’t a man. For an eighteen year old, it was more than I could bare. I remember sitting next to a beautiful redhead who held my complete attention. She was the kind of girl that led you on every word. But on a Sunday night after church, she leaned in next to me and said, “You know, you’re not really a man.” My heart broke and my spirit sank; my body floundered in my seat. I was humiliated. I looked all around to see if any one was listening—because at eighteen, you don’t want anyone to ease drop on that. She continued to tell me that I’m getting manhood all-wrong, and that I need to grow up. And so, with a violent denial of man hood I began my search of what it means to be a man.
I’d like to think that I’ve learned something since then. But who really knows. I’d like to think that since then I have grown up into something that at the very least resembles what a man—but who really knows what a man is. And since that blazing redhead told me I wasn’t good enough I have been searching. I’ve been searching for some definitive answer to that question, some reason why she would tell me I wasn’t good enough.
    I don’t want to be just a man; I want to be a human. Everyone dreams to be respected and trusted, compassionate and merciful. Some how we seem to have lost our ability to see what it means to become a human. To often we are defined ourselves by our ability to succeed and gain more—if only I had just a little more I’ll be happy, we say, but deep down we know that that won’t be enough. Are lives are filled with wanting more, but we become lodged in fixation of want and neither getting fulfillment nor satisfaction. We have lost our ability to dream beyond what the world offers us. In his book Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard wrote that the greatest gift God gave Abraham was not Isaac but his ability to dream, his ability to be young. God gave Abraham the very thing that life had denied him—fatherhood. But in the midst of such turmoil God had another plan. God promised Abraham a child; he promised the greatest gift of all, sitting with your flesh and blood knowing that the best is yet to come. God offers us to dream, to be young, to live.
    I suppose then that the process of becoming a human is the process of allowing God to give us the ability to dream. To allow God to change our worldview and the way life is into the way life is supposed to be. In the story of Abraham, it was Sarah who laughed at the notion of having a child—after all, it was Sarah who actually had to give birth. But as she laughed, God said “Is anything to hard for me for me to?” Sarah fell silent. Many times we limit God’s ability to do the impossible, but when we relinquish ourselves, God does just that. Part of becoming human is our ability to dream, to be able to know that there is something more than this world. Hope, says N.T. Wright, is when our worldview changes and we know that what we see—violence, greed, corruption and malice—do not rule the world. As I am becoming more of a human, as God is giving me the ability to dream, I am seeing the world not as a evil place but as a place waiting in anticipation.
    This scares me. In fact, it terrifies me. Because I know that when there is a response to a call. When Jesus says, to love everybody he actually wants us to do it. He offers us the ability to be the change, to live as though another world exists. Its so easy to be evil, but so hard to be good. One author writes that following Jesus is simple but not easy. A few months ago, I decided to pray for the people that don’t like me—it was the hardest thing I ever did. As I prayed I began to have an internal conflict: it isn’t normal to pray for these people, said one side of me; this is how its supposed to be, said the other side. Jesus offers us another way to live, another way to be human. That redhead may have been on to something—the people we love the most always know where we fall short. I fall short, that much is true, but I know that my attempts to be human remain in my ability to dream and hope that another way is possible.

Daniel

    Sometimes, we are exposed to the reality of who we are. Most of these times it is when we least expect it—but all the time, it hits hard. And so, I am hit with who I am.
Most of my life I have been a person or regret: regret that I didn’t do this, regret that my family didn’t have that, regret that I failed at something or regret that I got caught.
Most of the time when truth hits us, we aren’t the ones to expose ourselves—its done for us. When that truth hits us we are left naked and alone. Consider the following:
 I am a bad person.
I take advantage of people.
I lie and I don’t care.
I seek attention.
I care about myself.
There is a part of me that regrets to write this, not because I’m afraid of getting caught, but because I am tired of being this type of person. Take it for what its worth, regret only gets you so far before it demands change. And posting such things on the Internet hardly seems like the place or means to do such things. But nonetheless, this never makes any sense.
I write not to save myself, or my name—that has already been lost. I write to expose that I am neither good nor capable of being good. I write to admit to friends, whether actual or acquaintances, who I am. I read a poem the other night at Open Mic that describe how we are when we are exposed to the point where we are naked and fleeting—I think, I failed at describing that. I think that when we are exposed for who we really are, it’s lonelier than that. In the poem I describe that when we are hurting we want to know if people know that about us. And that even if they aren’t, at least we are able to feel, hope and heal. I think that’s wrong. I think that when we are exposed, when we see ourselves for who we really are, we are left alone. Period.
Its hard to come to terms with who your are—its almost impossible to get over it. There may be many circumstances to why: upbringing, genetics, cultural programming, etc. No matter what it is, there is not excuse for doing the things that we do. I mean, the things that I do. Like I said, sorry only gets you so far, before it demands change. I guess I’m writing this, because I need too. I need to expose myself to the people that know me, so they may really know. I need to expose myself to the people that care about me, to let them know that I am not what they think. I remember so long ago that I wanted to be in a group of people that the only thing required was honesty. Where am I now? As far from it as possible. And now, 1.30 in the morning, sitting in the dark, admitting the very things I am afraid of: me.
I am far from perfect, we all know that, but there is something inside me that wants better. But this isn’t about Idealism, its about reality. This is about response. My response, as a person, is to get out of something. To avoid, duck and cover. The reality is that I am a shady person, unable to be trusted, and unable to give trust. There isn’t much to that—it remains in my court and sorry only gets you so far. (take it for what its worth). This is, I regret to say, the person that I have become. This person that I have created. This person that I see within myself. I regret me. I try so hard to stay face, that I remain hollow. Jesus described these people as sifting the gnat but drinking the camel. Unfortunately, I remain these people, other wise known as a hypocrite, but I prefer bustard. I guess this is where exposure gets you isn’t it? A lost friend, an ex-girlfriend, and a sleepless night. Sorry only gets you so far, doesn’t it?
    I’m sorry for how I treated you. I deserve better. Better than me, better than what I can give. Take it for what its worth…

Daniel

Sometimes we all wish we were somewhere else. Some more than others but its thought about at least once. It's the kind of thought that comes late on a Friday night with nothing to do. You know, the thought where you desperately wish you were somewhere else. Because that place is safe, comfortable and full of people you don't know. Fear isn't an issue there because nobody knows you. It's a place where you can start over—the kind where you dream about. It's not Utopia, because that's a waste of a dream, its just not here.
Its Eleven o'clock and he's bored. Driving down Main Street, he sees groups of people walking and waiting. Walking to go somewhere important and waiting to cross the street to get there. Everyone waits and walks these days. They wait for somewhere safe; they walk to get there. But of course, if they're not walking they're driving, but either way, they still have to wait. Wait for pedestrians; wait for red lights; wait for police.
Driving. Walking. Waiting.
He can't help but watch each person wait and walk (and drive). Each one hoping for something: children, success, money, safety, salvation. Some walk to keep warm; they are ones that live on the street. Some walk to go to a club; they are the ones that live in houses. Still, some just simply wait; they are the ones that hope the most. They're hoping for salvation to come, to bring themselves out of the sticky mess they put themselves in. At least that's what he thinks they're doing as drives and drinks his coffee.
Coffee at eleven is never a good idea, and he knows it. Why in the world would he need coffee so late? To function of course, but it's a poor idea to begin to function at eleven. Each drink reminds him that that is another hour of being awake, which in turn reminds him of his parents. Only grown ups worry about staying up late. And sleeping until 1.30 in the afternoon is hardly a thing a "grown-up" would do. Still, he buys and drinks his affine. Drinking and driving; sober and wishing. Main Street couldn't be so lonely and driving eastward was supposed to be better. If only John could see him now. We hope and long, we dream and strive and we can't see beyond ourselves. Where is the justice, we pray—right, we brought this upon ourselves. How else would this be poetic if it wasn't us that brought it upon ourselves.
That's how it always is. We want justice, but we fail to look within ourselves to see if we did the very thing we cry out for. Like Cain, we ignore our brother/sister crying. We ask, am I his keeper? When we actually are. Our cries become ambiguous to keep outsiders away and insiders further. Like I said, if only John could see me know. Obviously, I'm driving on Main Street, unable to speak, unable to find rhythm. I've heard sin described as chaos or disorder, and I think I like that a lot better. Not because its different, but because its not religious. Its not religious to seek something, its human. And thinking about sin makes me feel uncomfortable and doesn't describe me driving down Main Street alone at eleven. Its not sinful to drive downtown alone, its chaotic—people just don't do that, unless that is, there's something on their mind.
Its chaotic and disorderly to drink caffeine at eleven, it's not sinful. And when I pray it's certainly not sinful to beg for protection against myself, its human. And I have to believe that people waiting and walking and driving are looking for something. Obviously, I'm not going to be presumptuous, but if I'm looking, why can't they? And if looking is simply the start of something; than it is also the beginning of life or something like it. After all it was God who asked where Adam and Eve were. If I brought this upon myself, if I am driving alone at eleven with a cup of coffee in my hand, does it mean something more than what I am already reflecting about? Or is that something half way across town better for me. This chaos within myself may be the only thing that stops me from being complete—whatever completeness is.
John didn't do a very good job, and neither did I; driving east isn't much better than riding westward, and 2009 has to get better than it is now.

Daniel

I hate how friends are able to become strangers, and allies can soon become enemies. I had another dream about a friend that is no longer my friend. I keep having them—every time I do I wake up and immediately pray for them.
Don't get me wrong I don't usually do this, it seems foreign to me, but the reality is, there isn't anything I can do but that.

Around thanksgiving, I decided to pray for more people. In fact, the people I've started praying have become the people that I may not like, or that may not like me—it has become the hardest thing possible for me to do. While doing this, I've seen an internal struggle within me: it isn't normal to pray for people that you don't like, or that don't like you. Its transforming to pray those people. It creates a strange paradigm within your soul that changes you, that changes them, that changes your world.

I don't know if you're the praying type, or if you do believe that God exists—that's irrelevant right now. I do know that since I've starting praying for these people—and it's a long list right—I started to see a change.

The world isn't unsaveable, the world isn't without hope; in fact the world is filled with hope. I hope that through these prayers, my life begins to change. There must have been a reason that Jesus prayed in the LORD's Prayer that God forgive us as we have forgiven others—the process begins us and our ability to notice that our forgiveness, prayers and ultimately our love begins to change the world and ourselves.

But this isn't a theological blog, no; this is simply a statement that God is transforming me. Like I said its hard to prayer for those people that I don't like, or that don't like me.

Daniel

Sometimes I just miss the old days, old music, old friends.
Nostalgia is a bitter enemy.
I hope everything comes around--I'm not sure it will anymore.

Weather like things: the turning leaves, dropped temperature, and slow car rides makes life a little different.

I'm doing my grandma's eulogy on Sunday. I've never done one of those before, I'm sure its going to be difficult. Anything that means a lot is always difficult, like admittance or education or repentance or change.

Daniel

It has been awhile, I know. Thoughts have come and gone; I've tried to write, but nothing has seems of relevant to write or nessisary or important. This may not be important enough to write but it seems important enough to publish. MySpace has always been an outlet for thoughts, theories or other types of ideas:

I was reading the Hyperlink to New York Times today, when I saw an article about a accusation Sarah Palin was making about Barak Obama. In the article she responds to an article in the Times that asserts that Obama has political ties to a 60's extremist activist. In the article she says that "Obama is palling around with terrorists--indeed, she charges Obama with terrorism. Unfortunate as this is, it isn't what struck me the most. What did however was when she said, "This is not a man who sees America as you see it, and how I see America." She asserts that America is a certain way and Obama is clearly not with the program. She rules any possibility but her cliche conservationism that reeks of Reagen. She later says that America is "the greatest force for good in this world" and as a "beacon of light and hope for others who seek freedom and democracy."

My heart broke when I read this article--the beacon of light and hope? Can we honestly say that we are arrogant enough to promote a woman that says we are the light of the world? The hope of all democracy? Can we honestly support a person that is so blind to say that we are the greatest force for good in the world?

I cannot say that Obama is the saint and Palin is the devil--but I cannot say that she ( for that matter, McCain) is my hope for the Nation, let alone the world. The Romans had a phrase: Fiat Iusta Pereat Mundus, which means Let Justice Be Done Even If the World Perishes. The Roman's idea of peace and order was to destroy enough of the enemy and country side to squelch any resistance--in other words, fight, kill and destroy until they are unable. Peace is in the Tomahawk missile, I mean sword.

Certainly, another way is possible. I don't know that Obama is one that is going to usher it in (consider this mysterious messianic aura that follows him) and I know that Palin and McCain are not the answer either. When Augustus saw that his empire was falling apart, he decided to take Rome back to its core values: the family. The family in Rome was the building block of life, control the thoughts of the family and you control the Empire. Indeed, the same is with our Empire. Control our thoughts: economics, politics, values, and they control our votes and dreams and hopes. I wish I could turn my TV off and live a different way; I certainly I'm trying too.

Daniel

Shit is shit, no matter how much chocolate is on it.
I haven’t thought about Easter at all this week, partly because I’ve been thinking about myself, and partly because I’m reluctant to think about it. I’m reluctant because it is supposed to be a time of remembrance. A time when Jesus’ ministry, authority, kingship was fully expressed. I’m struggling because the message that I keep hearing about easter isn’t the message that is resonating in my heart.

Sin. Death. Salvation. Heaven.

Is there more? Or is this how we summed up entire work of God? Can we honestly say that this is it? this is the message we are living our lives for? Salvation for us? Living our lives for Heaven? We live for heaven like it actually exists.

I think there’s something more. I think it starts with Jesus. I think it continues with Jesus. I think we’re apart of it. I know we’re not the most important part.


What happened to love?
I’m struggling. I can’t let go, I can’t move on. Either I love to much, or I don’t love at all-- I’m not quite sure which.


Can we talk about this?

.daniel.