Living In the Now?

Does it bother anyone that everything is.... history? You know, that everything you tangibly experience pre-existed the moment of your experience. Everything is carried forward from somewhere prior.

Every room, every item you see, or touch, or feel...every word you speak was developed before you learned it. Every person you meet. Every show you watch...every TV you watch it on. All was there before you experienced them. Everything experienced pre-dates the moment of the experience. I am typing on a laptop manufactured 4 years ago in history. Typing words from hundreds of years ago.

In this reality how can we truly experience the 'present moment'? Our minds and imagination can transcend into the past or future. But is there any creative power to bring us into the...now? Or is it too loaded with the past to make ...unreachable?

I think maybe this is what is sought in nirvana. What Einstein wanted to say in our limits of speed. Likewise, we are limited to the past...and talk of the present in spite of all empirical evidence to the contrary.

Maybe this is where God comes in...where prayer lives. Where only a supernatural acting from outside our historical entrapment. Breaks through time and space because He created it and can do that. Breaks through and draws us into experiences of the present moment.

I guess we need to live the best we can within our limits with the benefit of experiencing the supernatural moments given to us along the way.

Wait! My five year old son wants to be spiderman...practices for it often. He doesn't acknowledge limits and seems quite happy...more than that, he appears quite certain. I need to sit at his feet awhile I think. :-)

Now what are Christian limits then if they experience moments of 'present time'. I guess I could be the Green lantern...if God wills!

Zen and the Art of War

I found a seat far from the gate. I am always most comfortable when remote and obscure. I tried to study the travelers and guess at their lives, their troubles. The masses mesmerize me. All different colors and shapes and movement. A carousel. God, that nailed it. That was life, I thought, round and round. At first glance, all glitter, variation and noise. But then, when the ride lasts too long for the spectator, they see. They see the perfect unison of step and motion, the conformity. And then the dreaded truth. Round and round, no end. Moving so much the same, looking so much the same. Dull incarnate. Between brief interludes of passing hot flight attendants my mind drifted back to my Coast Guard unit at Kodiak Island, Alaska. The analogy seemed to have no end for me. That was my last station and it rained over 300 days a year there. But never really rained. Sprinkled, misted, annoyed with wetness. Relentless was this abuse, that ever dripping faucet.
I was trying this new cheap airline that handed me a plastic card with a number. One guy caught my eye. He was bald and wearing an orange sheet. Asian looking, a Buddhist. He wasn’t watching anyone. He just stared out into the post in front of him. He was wearing one of those Mona Lisa smiles. Was he smiling or wasn’t he? At first I was intent on catching him at his game, you know, like you hear tourists doing with the guards at Buckingham Palace. No go, he was a pro. Eventually I just started emulating him and drew my focus onto him. I thought I knew the game, empty yourself. I almost had a little chant coming on when another hot flight attendant passed by. She had legs up to there, you know.
They were loading the plane but I learned early that I didn’t have to jump when my number was called. Why stand in line when you already have a seat. This guy was good, real good. He also waited pleasantly while the very important people lined up like preschool kids leaving recess. Finally, it was just the two of us. This was my game now and I was ready. He looked over to me and our eyes locked. Bring it on, I thought, bring it on. He gave in, picked up his little canvas satchel and floated off to the ramp. I was so happy when I got to the gate but for some reason the ticket lady seemed to miss the showdown. I have met few people in my life less impressed with me.
“Um, excuse me,” I asked, “this card doesn’t have my seat number on it.”
“It’s first come, first on.” She replied.
“Yeah.” I said authoritatively like an undercover official. Just checking, got my eyes on you kind of thing. Again with the unusual disinterest from her. She was good.
The ride from O’Hare to Milwaukee was just long enough for me to bare. But no more. The man in the back of the plane next to me had this uncanny power to keep conversation at bay. He didn’t even pick up a book or barf bag to read.
"Sucks back here, huh."
Nothing
"You know, I could ask them to bring you a pillow to go with that orange sheet."
Nothing. A smile...I think.

A Favorite Photo

I want to see thousands of these photos. How to accomplish this? It seems so the least of ministries to so many. Getting the 'word' out seems to be the primary 'commission'. Most of these little guys and gals barely escaped abortion...they are the residual, flukes of their societal context. Yeah, hundreds of thousands of them in the one country if you include those living on the streets.

One morning, when I was 12, I left the Fairmont hoity-toity hotel in New Orleans. I walked and walked. I walked into a pretty bad area of town. I slowly passed a kid my age...an old coat draped on him like a blanket. Curled against a door to an abandoned building. He was asleep. I stopped, don't know why. I remembered the night before I had ordered a cheeseburger from room service. They came to my room and cooked it in front of me...in the room.

The pain is everywhere. The poor are always with us. What can you do? But we still find ways to market them...talk of a village gets miles for one power hungry woman. Throwing money at them as a former community organizer gets another one the Presidency. And yet...there they always are. The answer? I hear another power happy woman in the congress say...make less of them and it will reduce the burden. Really, she doesn't appear to me to be burdened.

This little guy above is Ukrainian. Hes on his way to a family, a hope and a future. I don't know all the motivations for people to step out and pull one of these little guys in. But I can't can't stop seeing the Gospel in this photo. He does not really know the hell is escaping...or the incredible future he is stepping into. He's a little down syndrome boy excited about his new backpack and riding a train. Riding a real train! And talk about airplanes! He was chosen.

The writing journey

Seems this is where I start writing again. I will create categories of topics and expect there to be some changes early on. I will write through a mess of ideas that relate to life and people. A bit of Bible will show up. Probably put some photos up now and again. Disclaimer for fiction pieces...some will likely be in 1st person and some in 3rd person...and all a draft or eternal re-writes :-) Well....stay tuned if you dare.

Mark