I have decided to maintain a positive attitude in light of everything going on.
I am writing this as a sort of appetizer to whet my writing appetite. I haven't written anything in a few days and I think I need to stretch out my mind a bit. Tonight's menu is no small order: a statement of purpose. Yes, I am finally getting down to the SOP. There has been no reason to wait until now but time is running out. Hopefully the pressure of a deadline will give me some tailwinds to ride on. All one can do right now is let go, trust, and hopefully be carried away on the fancies of language.
The problem lies squarely in adequately marketing oneself. Are car salesmen naturally born with that legendary talent to pursuade, to excite, to incite, or manuver? Perhaps only a few. The others have probably developed that skill over many years of experience.
Well, I have no experience. And yet, I must sell myself for what I am to the admissions committees. I suppose this is one of those rare, rare opportunities to celebrate myself for who I am and the heights to which I hope to aspire. Everyone must begin somewhere. Let us begin at once.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
auhea wale oe, maunaloa la?
It's funny. Just as you think people aren't thinking about you they suddenly show up in your life again. As if they knew you were thinking about them.
I like to reflect on this past summer. Granted, I haven't had the full experience of being a real teacher. I taught during the summer. However, if you add up the total minutes of teaching, I taught a few hours more than a normal professor. I also had less time to prepare and more time I had to use. Perhaps I've just seen a different venue of teaching, no less valid than a regular professor. In any case the whole thing has given me plenty to reflect about.
The last day was particularly memorable. I had a recording of Mozart's symphony #25 playing in the minutes before class. As usual, I sat there at the desk with the lights off. Ordinarily the whiteboards behind me would be covered with notes that I would point to and refer to as I lectured. That day they were absolutely blank. Instead I had a page of typed notes on the podium. In the last minutes before class began, I carefully wiped down the boards with cleaner, packed up my markers, and made sure I didn't leave anything behind. I wanted the break to be clean.
The first person to come in was my old room mate's cousin. It was pretty strange. One day after lecture he said, "Hey you lived with so and so right? Yeah I remember you. I stayed with you guys for a few days." I had no idea who this kid was, but he provided sufficient memories for me to believe him. Talk about awkward. Soon, the eldest woman came processing in with her sunglasses on carrying her starbucks cup. The two next people through the door were my favorites. Yes, favorites.
The first is this 30 something year old guy. He's really slick. He is super smart. He'd wear this white hoodie with a pink heart or something on it. The guy is an Asian with a white last name, so it took me forever to put the name to the face. Anyway, he'd always come in saying what work at the hotel was like, what sorts of parties he had been to, and more often than not he'd ask me if I knew one of his friends. But what impressed me the most about him was how he took notes. I required each of them to submit to me a one page weekly reflection on something that they found interesting. This guy just turned in the notes for one day. It was as if he took perfect dictation. Reading them I could recognize my own voice. While some others might see this as uncritical assimilation of the material, I knew that this guy had locked it in his mind. He was the best student in that class, hands down. Everything a teacher could've wanted: clarity, promptness, humility, humor, honesty, engagement, friendliness, etc. he had. I think my main problem with him was his knack to interrupt me during lecture. I could be building up to a certain climax point then he'd stop me and ask a question. I could feel the energy and momentum leave me. But you know what? This was his way of processing information. He needed to talk it through. Besides, with a smile like that and a laugh so infectious how could I be angry? I just took a few seconds after every one of his questions to regroup myself and start building up anew.
Now, his exams were perfect. He did so well that I exempted him from a final project. His writing style wasn't the most elegant but it was eloquent enough. Many minutes were spent trying to decipher his bad handwriting but I am glad that I did. One thing I noticed about students is that they try to imitate you. For example, I remember reading in one of his exams something phrased as if he were trying to turn it in the way I'd say it. I caught it, winced, made a note of it, and gave the exam back. When he saw it he started laughing. "Hey, I tried!" he kidded. Tried he did. When he was being himself he had a real gift of being personal about his writing. He used a lot of "you" statements. Of course, that's one of the first rules of discursive writing: to not drag the reader into your own horizon. Still, I couldn't help but admire the personalism of his work. It was as if he and I were having a conversation about the exam. His writing, where truly his, was as much his own as anything else. Eventually, I'd go on to tell him that therein lies his strength. He's got plenty personality so he doesn't have to copy me or anybody else. "Just be yourself, braddah, and you stay good", I told him. "Ehhh right on, D. Right on" he replied. Yeah, he called me D after I asked him not to call me "Professor".
After him a girl would walk through. This diminutive asian girl that is. Her hair would be up in a bun hastily fastened with a pen. She'd invariably be wearing pink with some black capris. One day I got done with writing on the board super early, so I left the lights off and sat at the back of the classroom against the wall. She was the first to show up. She opened the door and turned right to adjust the air conditioning. "HELLO!" I yelled. She literally jumped and screamed, putting her hand over her chest as she rested her back against the wall. It was too easy to make fun of this girl. She is so quirky. There's something about her that I liked immediately. Maybe because she was so adorably girly. You know, one of those girls which are delightfully clumsy. She isn't stupid, she's just. Her. Anyway, she'd sit next to the man I described above. She also was a diligent note taker and never looked up at me for anything. When I cracked a joke she was the first to get it and she would let out this belly laugh befitting her small stature. I think out of all of the students I warmed up to her first. She was just friendly from the getgo. Sometimes I knew she got spacy but after the first week I knew how to keep her attention.
Her work demonstrated a real curiousity. I mean, every weekly reflection she would mention that she would ask some questions to her coworkers and they'd have a small reflection about it. I think I believe her when she said she did that. Her papers were honest and without superfluous language. They were straightfoward but not boring. In fact, their simplicity yielded a great deal of charm. They betrayed the inner spontinaety of her life. Her bluebook exams were conservative to say the least. They didn't venture into the risque, but they were complete. She had attended a private school for high school and I could tell that through her grammar and sentence structure. She had a highly polished sense of rhetoric manifest in simple everyday language. I don't know how she did it but she was successful. She won me over from the very first reflection, and completely so after the first exam. It wasn't that she wrote blind paraphrases. Rather, I could see her engaging the concepts to the best of her ability. She captured the sense of lectures well while infusing into them a certain freshness that I had been looking for. Above all else her method was paradoxically predictable yet original.
Anyway, most of the class would process in after these two. Again remembering the last day, I could see their faces very clearly. I can even remember how one girl did her hair. She was glowing that day. I began, "Well, today is the end. We've been together for well over a month now. We've seen each other every day during the week. I know it hasn't been easy for you, and it has been equally as difficult for me. I want you all to know that what we've done here, what I have shared with you, what you have shared with me - all of this has been my deepest and most profound privilege." And with that, I began to read by farewell lecture. In the middle, I read a short story I had translated from the German original by Joseph Ratzinger. It was about the role of the theologian in the modern period. After thanking them, I assured them that they would occupy a special place in my life for the rest of my days. I gave my formal farewell.
I then went to every one of them, shaking their hand and placing into their other a piece of folded paper. On it was their name, their grades for the course, and two to three paragraphs in praise of their accomplishments. The closing sentences read simply: "It has been my honor and pleasure to serve as your instructor for the Sociology and Philosophy of Religion course at Chaminade University of Honolulu." The next two sentences changed from student to student, but it essentially wished them luck for the rest of their time at school. I watched as most of them they up off of their desks and through the door. I will never see them again.
In some ways I would be honest in saying that they took a piece of me with them. It was they who saw me at my most valuable. I had to grow up quickly before their eyes. Towards the end of the course I agreed to go to lunch with one of them, under the condition that we went out as friends, not as student and teacher. She was an older woman, so I trusted that she would understand. She told me, "When I first saw you in class I thought, 'Oh no, this guy is a kid. He is going to fall apart.' Lucky for you that never happened. You never came across as nervous. Is that how you always are?" I just smiled and changed the subject. Inside I wanted to shake her and say, "Are you freaking kidding me? You guys almost killed me!!!" Their attention and attentiveness helped develop within me a skill I did not possess before meeting them.
After the last class a handful of us went to Zippy's in Kahala. We spent a few hours there just talking about anything and everything. I really enjoyed those moments. We could be ourselves moreso than in the classroom. After I had dropped them back off at campus I took a drive out to Kailua. A burden was lifted from my shoulders. No more rising at 5AM to make sure lecture would go smoothly. No more stress, per se. But what about this sudden emptiness I feel? Why do I feel an urgency? Why is it that my pulse quickens when I think about not seeing any of them? The short answer: I had come to care about them. After all, they were under my academic care for a "semester". How could I not get attached? Yes, many of the interactions I had there were pretty shallow and school related. Seeing people everyday does something to people. It's a cycle not easily broken.
I can admit to sliding into a small bout of depression after the whole thing was over. On Monday morning I woke up again at dawn but I realized I had nothing to leave for. My leather shoes sat quietly next to the door. I had no need to black slacks for the rest of summer. My aloha shirts hung in the closet unironed. My black portfolio didn't require packing. Everything was at a standstill. What was there left to do? I slept, slept, and slept. I slept all day. At first I thought that it was just me relaxing and being tired. The more I reflected on it I came to realize that I had nothing to do with myself because my identity was that of a teacher without students. Those kids gave my life meaning, no matter how formal or academicly nonpersonal. They were the wind beneath my wings. They stood on my shoulders. Without them, I was no longer suspended in the heights of professional development. Without them, I had no responsibilities for support. It was as if I had ceased to function. But why? It wasn't as if I had been doing it forever. Perhaps that's the point. Even a short while of intensive teaching is enough to leave a profound and indelible imprint on one's spirit.
When I went back home to Kauai I thought of them. Every single one of them. I can remember their fashion and method of writing. I can remember those smirks they had on their faces when they talked crap about me. I can remember the looks on some of their faces when they stared at me. I can see all of that really vividly. Most of all, I can see the relief on their faces when I told them that things would be OK when one of thems screwed up. They were grateful for a second chance. It was my privilege to give many of them second chances.
To this day I still think of them. Is it unhealthy? Perhaps. I wonder if they ever think of me, too.
I suppose that there's a little light at the end of this story. Those two best students I mentioned earlier keep in regular contact with me. Speaking to the both of them tonight moved me to write this short reflection. How blessed I have been to have had them both as students and as friends. To know that I mattered enough for them to contact me and keep in contact is deeply validating on a personal level. I am most grateful for having been entrusted the duty to their education. What is more, I am humbled by the entire prospect of education. Teaching will probably change my life in ways I never knew anything could change me. Thanks be to God.
I like to reflect on this past summer. Granted, I haven't had the full experience of being a real teacher. I taught during the summer. However, if you add up the total minutes of teaching, I taught a few hours more than a normal professor. I also had less time to prepare and more time I had to use. Perhaps I've just seen a different venue of teaching, no less valid than a regular professor. In any case the whole thing has given me plenty to reflect about.
The last day was particularly memorable. I had a recording of Mozart's symphony #25 playing in the minutes before class. As usual, I sat there at the desk with the lights off. Ordinarily the whiteboards behind me would be covered with notes that I would point to and refer to as I lectured. That day they were absolutely blank. Instead I had a page of typed notes on the podium. In the last minutes before class began, I carefully wiped down the boards with cleaner, packed up my markers, and made sure I didn't leave anything behind. I wanted the break to be clean.
The first person to come in was my old room mate's cousin. It was pretty strange. One day after lecture he said, "Hey you lived with so and so right? Yeah I remember you. I stayed with you guys for a few days." I had no idea who this kid was, but he provided sufficient memories for me to believe him. Talk about awkward. Soon, the eldest woman came processing in with her sunglasses on carrying her starbucks cup. The two next people through the door were my favorites. Yes, favorites.
The first is this 30 something year old guy. He's really slick. He is super smart. He'd wear this white hoodie with a pink heart or something on it. The guy is an Asian with a white last name, so it took me forever to put the name to the face. Anyway, he'd always come in saying what work at the hotel was like, what sorts of parties he had been to, and more often than not he'd ask me if I knew one of his friends. But what impressed me the most about him was how he took notes. I required each of them to submit to me a one page weekly reflection on something that they found interesting. This guy just turned in the notes for one day. It was as if he took perfect dictation. Reading them I could recognize my own voice. While some others might see this as uncritical assimilation of the material, I knew that this guy had locked it in his mind. He was the best student in that class, hands down. Everything a teacher could've wanted: clarity, promptness, humility, humor, honesty, engagement, friendliness, etc. he had. I think my main problem with him was his knack to interrupt me during lecture. I could be building up to a certain climax point then he'd stop me and ask a question. I could feel the energy and momentum leave me. But you know what? This was his way of processing information. He needed to talk it through. Besides, with a smile like that and a laugh so infectious how could I be angry? I just took a few seconds after every one of his questions to regroup myself and start building up anew.
Now, his exams were perfect. He did so well that I exempted him from a final project. His writing style wasn't the most elegant but it was eloquent enough. Many minutes were spent trying to decipher his bad handwriting but I am glad that I did. One thing I noticed about students is that they try to imitate you. For example, I remember reading in one of his exams something phrased as if he were trying to turn it in the way I'd say it. I caught it, winced, made a note of it, and gave the exam back. When he saw it he started laughing. "Hey, I tried!" he kidded. Tried he did. When he was being himself he had a real gift of being personal about his writing. He used a lot of "you" statements. Of course, that's one of the first rules of discursive writing: to not drag the reader into your own horizon. Still, I couldn't help but admire the personalism of his work. It was as if he and I were having a conversation about the exam. His writing, where truly his, was as much his own as anything else. Eventually, I'd go on to tell him that therein lies his strength. He's got plenty personality so he doesn't have to copy me or anybody else. "Just be yourself, braddah, and you stay good", I told him. "Ehhh right on, D. Right on" he replied. Yeah, he called me D after I asked him not to call me "Professor".
After him a girl would walk through. This diminutive asian girl that is. Her hair would be up in a bun hastily fastened with a pen. She'd invariably be wearing pink with some black capris. One day I got done with writing on the board super early, so I left the lights off and sat at the back of the classroom against the wall. She was the first to show up. She opened the door and turned right to adjust the air conditioning. "HELLO!" I yelled. She literally jumped and screamed, putting her hand over her chest as she rested her back against the wall. It was too easy to make fun of this girl. She is so quirky. There's something about her that I liked immediately. Maybe because she was so adorably girly. You know, one of those girls which are delightfully clumsy. She isn't stupid, she's just. Her. Anyway, she'd sit next to the man I described above. She also was a diligent note taker and never looked up at me for anything. When I cracked a joke she was the first to get it and she would let out this belly laugh befitting her small stature. I think out of all of the students I warmed up to her first. She was just friendly from the getgo. Sometimes I knew she got spacy but after the first week I knew how to keep her attention.
Her work demonstrated a real curiousity. I mean, every weekly reflection she would mention that she would ask some questions to her coworkers and they'd have a small reflection about it. I think I believe her when she said she did that. Her papers were honest and without superfluous language. They were straightfoward but not boring. In fact, their simplicity yielded a great deal of charm. They betrayed the inner spontinaety of her life. Her bluebook exams were conservative to say the least. They didn't venture into the risque, but they were complete. She had attended a private school for high school and I could tell that through her grammar and sentence structure. She had a highly polished sense of rhetoric manifest in simple everyday language. I don't know how she did it but she was successful. She won me over from the very first reflection, and completely so after the first exam. It wasn't that she wrote blind paraphrases. Rather, I could see her engaging the concepts to the best of her ability. She captured the sense of lectures well while infusing into them a certain freshness that I had been looking for. Above all else her method was paradoxically predictable yet original.
Anyway, most of the class would process in after these two. Again remembering the last day, I could see their faces very clearly. I can even remember how one girl did her hair. She was glowing that day. I began, "Well, today is the end. We've been together for well over a month now. We've seen each other every day during the week. I know it hasn't been easy for you, and it has been equally as difficult for me. I want you all to know that what we've done here, what I have shared with you, what you have shared with me - all of this has been my deepest and most profound privilege." And with that, I began to read by farewell lecture. In the middle, I read a short story I had translated from the German original by Joseph Ratzinger. It was about the role of the theologian in the modern period. After thanking them, I assured them that they would occupy a special place in my life for the rest of my days. I gave my formal farewell.
I then went to every one of them, shaking their hand and placing into their other a piece of folded paper. On it was their name, their grades for the course, and two to three paragraphs in praise of their accomplishments. The closing sentences read simply: "It has been my honor and pleasure to serve as your instructor for the Sociology and Philosophy of Religion course at Chaminade University of Honolulu." The next two sentences changed from student to student, but it essentially wished them luck for the rest of their time at school. I watched as most of them they up off of their desks and through the door. I will never see them again.
In some ways I would be honest in saying that they took a piece of me with them. It was they who saw me at my most valuable. I had to grow up quickly before their eyes. Towards the end of the course I agreed to go to lunch with one of them, under the condition that we went out as friends, not as student and teacher. She was an older woman, so I trusted that she would understand. She told me, "When I first saw you in class I thought, 'Oh no, this guy is a kid. He is going to fall apart.' Lucky for you that never happened. You never came across as nervous. Is that how you always are?" I just smiled and changed the subject. Inside I wanted to shake her and say, "Are you freaking kidding me? You guys almost killed me!!!" Their attention and attentiveness helped develop within me a skill I did not possess before meeting them.
After the last class a handful of us went to Zippy's in Kahala. We spent a few hours there just talking about anything and everything. I really enjoyed those moments. We could be ourselves moreso than in the classroom. After I had dropped them back off at campus I took a drive out to Kailua. A burden was lifted from my shoulders. No more rising at 5AM to make sure lecture would go smoothly. No more stress, per se. But what about this sudden emptiness I feel? Why do I feel an urgency? Why is it that my pulse quickens when I think about not seeing any of them? The short answer: I had come to care about them. After all, they were under my academic care for a "semester". How could I not get attached? Yes, many of the interactions I had there were pretty shallow and school related. Seeing people everyday does something to people. It's a cycle not easily broken.
I can admit to sliding into a small bout of depression after the whole thing was over. On Monday morning I woke up again at dawn but I realized I had nothing to leave for. My leather shoes sat quietly next to the door. I had no need to black slacks for the rest of summer. My aloha shirts hung in the closet unironed. My black portfolio didn't require packing. Everything was at a standstill. What was there left to do? I slept, slept, and slept. I slept all day. At first I thought that it was just me relaxing and being tired. The more I reflected on it I came to realize that I had nothing to do with myself because my identity was that of a teacher without students. Those kids gave my life meaning, no matter how formal or academicly nonpersonal. They were the wind beneath my wings. They stood on my shoulders. Without them, I was no longer suspended in the heights of professional development. Without them, I had no responsibilities for support. It was as if I had ceased to function. But why? It wasn't as if I had been doing it forever. Perhaps that's the point. Even a short while of intensive teaching is enough to leave a profound and indelible imprint on one's spirit.
When I went back home to Kauai I thought of them. Every single one of them. I can remember their fashion and method of writing. I can remember those smirks they had on their faces when they talked crap about me. I can remember the looks on some of their faces when they stared at me. I can see all of that really vividly. Most of all, I can see the relief on their faces when I told them that things would be OK when one of thems screwed up. They were grateful for a second chance. It was my privilege to give many of them second chances.
To this day I still think of them. Is it unhealthy? Perhaps. I wonder if they ever think of me, too.
I suppose that there's a little light at the end of this story. Those two best students I mentioned earlier keep in regular contact with me. Speaking to the both of them tonight moved me to write this short reflection. How blessed I have been to have had them both as students and as friends. To know that I mattered enough for them to contact me and keep in contact is deeply validating on a personal level. I am most grateful for having been entrusted the duty to their education. What is more, I am humbled by the entire prospect of education. Teaching will probably change my life in ways I never knew anything could change me. Thanks be to God.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Five years and five days ago to the day I met this guy at a conference in Washington, DC. I don't remember his name, just his face and the fact that he was from Chicago. I had taken off my glasses and placed them on the table as I usually do when eating with a friend. He picked them up and put them on. I hate when people do that. But he continued and talked about how he does it because he wonders what kinds of things I've seen through the lenses. He told me about somebody - it could've been himself, I don't remember - who collects old glasses because somehow the physical spectacles have captured within them traces of that person's experiences.
Over the past month or so almost everybody with which I come into regular contact has talked about trading places with me for a day. It is slightly creepy, although I suspect that this is due to the wildly addicting interview thingie on facebook. Nevertheless, this topic has been on my mind.
I wonder what it'd be like to see the world with somebody else's eyes. Very rarely to we see things as they are. I think that's why so many people have the sensation of visions or ghosts. They're just "fillers" that our mind generates, taking cues from external stimuli. For the record, I believe that there do exists ghosts, demons, and other "supernatural" presences in our world. Explaining something with a crude scientific appeal never diminishes the actual mystery of such a contact.
Anyway, I wonder if a tree looks the same to me as it does to someone else. I say this both on the physical level and the experiential level. For example, when I see a tree I see, well, a tree. I could begin to describe the tree to the best of my ability. The other person would probably concur. But there's no real way to validate our shared and common experience of said tree, for all we're exchanging is spoken and heard word which lack content in themselves. The exchange thus isn't about the actual appearance of the tree, just those qualities to which we have ascribed descriptors.
On the other level, when I see trees I immediately think of trees at home. You know, Hawaii trees. The ones with a thin skin for bark. The different shades of green. And in a special way, I think of how these qualities influence how I will interact with such a tree. No doubt I will never try to climb a tree with a slimy skin. In like manner, I know a lychee tree is perfect for climbing and hiding. A papaya tree, not so much. In other words, my vision of the tree is framed by my natural inclination towards utility towards trees. Now, of course trees exist without utility. In fact, should I die at this instant, every tree would continue to exist because they have no causal relationship with my existance.
I guess the real question I have is what level of power these preconceptions have to taint our knowledge of a thing. When I look into the sky I can say, "The clouds today will bring us lots of fish. Let's get our poles." The person next to me might say, "I see traces of upper atmospheric turbulence." Another person in our group might say, "I see a dog!", while another may say, "I see nothing at all." We're all looking at the same physical thing - or at least our current understanding of vision implies we do. And yet, we see very different things, perhaps because clouds in themselves don't furnish us with a prima facie interpretation. Instead, we impose our view of the world onto other things infront of us. There is no way around this.
If there is objective reality at all, will trading places with somebody else make it all the more clear? Will we be able to point to common references from either body? I am tempted to somehow get into somebody's body at this very moment. The thought of what I might see from the eyes of another is terrifyingly beautiful.
Over the past month or so almost everybody with which I come into regular contact has talked about trading places with me for a day. It is slightly creepy, although I suspect that this is due to the wildly addicting interview thingie on facebook. Nevertheless, this topic has been on my mind.
I wonder what it'd be like to see the world with somebody else's eyes. Very rarely to we see things as they are. I think that's why so many people have the sensation of visions or ghosts. They're just "fillers" that our mind generates, taking cues from external stimuli. For the record, I believe that there do exists ghosts, demons, and other "supernatural" presences in our world. Explaining something with a crude scientific appeal never diminishes the actual mystery of such a contact.
Anyway, I wonder if a tree looks the same to me as it does to someone else. I say this both on the physical level and the experiential level. For example, when I see a tree I see, well, a tree. I could begin to describe the tree to the best of my ability. The other person would probably concur. But there's no real way to validate our shared and common experience of said tree, for all we're exchanging is spoken and heard word which lack content in themselves. The exchange thus isn't about the actual appearance of the tree, just those qualities to which we have ascribed descriptors.
On the other level, when I see trees I immediately think of trees at home. You know, Hawaii trees. The ones with a thin skin for bark. The different shades of green. And in a special way, I think of how these qualities influence how I will interact with such a tree. No doubt I will never try to climb a tree with a slimy skin. In like manner, I know a lychee tree is perfect for climbing and hiding. A papaya tree, not so much. In other words, my vision of the tree is framed by my natural inclination towards utility towards trees. Now, of course trees exist without utility. In fact, should I die at this instant, every tree would continue to exist because they have no causal relationship with my existance.
I guess the real question I have is what level of power these preconceptions have to taint our knowledge of a thing. When I look into the sky I can say, "The clouds today will bring us lots of fish. Let's get our poles." The person next to me might say, "I see traces of upper atmospheric turbulence." Another person in our group might say, "I see a dog!", while another may say, "I see nothing at all." We're all looking at the same physical thing - or at least our current understanding of vision implies we do. And yet, we see very different things, perhaps because clouds in themselves don't furnish us with a prima facie interpretation. Instead, we impose our view of the world onto other things infront of us. There is no way around this.
If there is objective reality at all, will trading places with somebody else make it all the more clear? Will we be able to point to common references from either body? I am tempted to somehow get into somebody's body at this very moment. The thought of what I might see from the eyes of another is terrifyingly beautiful.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Raymond Fonsèque
It's always interesting to see how my desk changes from day to day, week to week. Just now I was captured by its own dynamic movement (dynamischen Hinbewegung). In a matter of minutes, the classic texts and current scholarship of moral theology were evacuated to make way for a new set of books: hydrology, charts of maximum sustainable yeilds for Hawai'i aquifers, scales for water price adjustment, figures for tourism, and above all, accounts of Native Hawaiian water rights and its place in pre-contact Hawaiian society. Stradding these two worlds feels a bit awkward right now, but it's gotta be gone.
I am not pleased with the progress of my thesis. I hope to finish 30 pages by next week Monday on material that I am not conversant on. We'll see how that goes. After that it'll be back to moral theology and finalizing my own translations of Aquinas and Scotus from Latin. After that, I will have to have my translations of Pinckaers' "Le sources de la morale chretienne" approved. It is a seminal work which encorporates moral theology, especially the virtues, with spirituality. I will propose a three-staged program of moral development which runs in parallel with, and in some cases contributes to, the great mystical tradition of spiritual growth as described in distinct stages, terminating with the illuminative stage.
On top of that, I have not finished my SOP. I actually texted one of my former professors in Honolulu. I told him that I was having an incredible bout of academic self-doubt. He actually called me not too long ago but I was preparing for my class coming up at 2. It feels good to have solid connections with people from the past. I am sure that he'll be most helpful in helping me lift out those things which make me unique as a scholar. I can't do that alone. For all I know I am as generic as some other twentysomething guy from off the street.
I still can't wait to get home. I am listening to "Koke'e" recorded by Maunalua. Growing up I absolutely detested this song. It is trite. It talks about climbing to the top of Koke'e and seeing the mist which encircles everything. It's a fast song but it seems to want to portray some sense of beauty about Koke'e. And so? Yeah, I've hiked to the top. Probably over 1,500 times. Yeah, I've see the mist. I've tasted it, too. For these reasons I thought the song was dragging out an otherwise powerful but mundane experience that is a part of everyday life. But now that I am not there to climb to Koke'e, to smell the ferns, to taste the sweet dewy fog, and feel the coolness of its airs, I can't help but smile when I hear this song. It isn't like actually being there. I think of it more as an appetizer of the day when I go to Kaua'i for the twilight of my life, and as the song says, "never more to say goodbye."
I am not pleased with the progress of my thesis. I hope to finish 30 pages by next week Monday on material that I am not conversant on. We'll see how that goes. After that it'll be back to moral theology and finalizing my own translations of Aquinas and Scotus from Latin. After that, I will have to have my translations of Pinckaers' "Le sources de la morale chretienne" approved. It is a seminal work which encorporates moral theology, especially the virtues, with spirituality. I will propose a three-staged program of moral development which runs in parallel with, and in some cases contributes to, the great mystical tradition of spiritual growth as described in distinct stages, terminating with the illuminative stage.
On top of that, I have not finished my SOP. I actually texted one of my former professors in Honolulu. I told him that I was having an incredible bout of academic self-doubt. He actually called me not too long ago but I was preparing for my class coming up at 2. It feels good to have solid connections with people from the past. I am sure that he'll be most helpful in helping me lift out those things which make me unique as a scholar. I can't do that alone. For all I know I am as generic as some other twentysomething guy from off the street.
I still can't wait to get home. I am listening to "Koke'e" recorded by Maunalua. Growing up I absolutely detested this song. It is trite. It talks about climbing to the top of Koke'e and seeing the mist which encircles everything. It's a fast song but it seems to want to portray some sense of beauty about Koke'e. And so? Yeah, I've hiked to the top. Probably over 1,500 times. Yeah, I've see the mist. I've tasted it, too. For these reasons I thought the song was dragging out an otherwise powerful but mundane experience that is a part of everyday life. But now that I am not there to climb to Koke'e, to smell the ferns, to taste the sweet dewy fog, and feel the coolness of its airs, I can't help but smile when I hear this song. It isn't like actually being there. I think of it more as an appetizer of the day when I go to Kaua'i for the twilight of my life, and as the song says, "never more to say goodbye."
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
diet coke and pretzels
"So what have you learned so far?", asked the most important of my college mentors during a visit to Chaminade campus two years ago. "Wait, don't tell me: you feel like a stupid fuckhead and you can't get enough stationary." I literally sat there with my mouth open. How'd he know? "Don't worry, we all have been there and done that. Especially about the stationary bit. That part goes away. The stupid fuckhead part stays with you forever."
I began to tell him that he's right. I couldn't get enough stationary. "I feel the need to buy massive containers..." he interrupted, "for every single piece of paper you own right? You want cases for flash cards, filing trays for all of your shit." Again I was speechless. "But go on", he said with that Bronx smirk. What he was saying was true. I had bought all sorts of things to keep myself organized. I had notepads and tablets. I didn't know what I would do with all of them. He interrupted again, "You should've gone into sociology like I told you. Next time you come back let's do a field sample and write an analysis of first year graduate students. I know you suck at the quantitative side of the field. That's nothing a few good slaps won't fix. Learn to add, you religious motherfucker you."
That was him. He was so incisive with his language. Not everybody could approach him to have a conversation. He wasn't harsh to everyone - only the ones he cared about. But his stature is intimidating. At a little over 6' tall, with far inset italian eyes that looked through every shred of your own self pride, this guy was a tough man. Sure he could be compassionate when he wanted to. Those days were few and far in between. If you were there to talk shop you talked shop. If you were there to talk about life and feelings you talked about life and feelings. This guy have pretty good advice. We shared many of the same experiences growing up especially family dynamics. I think he knew where I was coming from. To a certain extent I knew where he was coming from too.
"So what's this about the stupid fuckhead part?" I asked. "Yes, you're a stupid fuckhead." I looked at him for just that moment. He looked back with that cold dead glance. "Well, what the fuck do you want me to say? Hold your hand tell and tell you that you're brilliant, tell you good job, give you a fucking gold star on your bluebook? You're old enough to figure shit out. And stop giving me that fucking sad puppy look, you prick." Did I mention that this guy cussed a lot for a professor and a Brother, no less?
At that time I couldn't restrain the thoughts in my head. I told him that as much as I learned I felt like I was getting dumb. Dumb and dumber. As if I felt myself losing my brain. That I was scared. At that moment he softened up. "You know what your problem is? You're transitioning to actually using your brain for the first time in your life. Knowing what I know now I can tell you all day about the things I don't know about. That's a side effect of learning. You become aware of the fact that you don't know about things which you previously didn't know existed. You and I belong to a small group which entertains thoughts most other people will never have. I say that you get a life and get used to it. It never goes away. It never goes away. It never goes away." You always knew when he meant something because he repeated it three times.
Was it true what he said? At first I didn't get it. Only now do I start to really appreciate that as fully as I should. Of course I knew and know I don't know everything. But I didn't know how that squared with the feeling of utter inadequacy. I know I'll never know anything about physics other than the two courses I took in college. If I had the mind for it I would've liked to be a physicist. If his thesis is right I feel so inadequate because I know there is a whole new world that is inaccessible to me and will always be inaccessible to me. Compared to what I know right now and what I hope to know or what I know is possible to know, my knowledge really is just a grain of sand in the ocean of infinite knowledge.
So what now? Hell if I know. But I thank him for bringing that to my attention. Thank you, my dear friend. Thank you for awakening that within me. Thank you, where ever you may be.
I began to tell him that he's right. I couldn't get enough stationary. "I feel the need to buy massive containers..." he interrupted, "for every single piece of paper you own right? You want cases for flash cards, filing trays for all of your shit." Again I was speechless. "But go on", he said with that Bronx smirk. What he was saying was true. I had bought all sorts of things to keep myself organized. I had notepads and tablets. I didn't know what I would do with all of them. He interrupted again, "You should've gone into sociology like I told you. Next time you come back let's do a field sample and write an analysis of first year graduate students. I know you suck at the quantitative side of the field. That's nothing a few good slaps won't fix. Learn to add, you religious motherfucker you."
That was him. He was so incisive with his language. Not everybody could approach him to have a conversation. He wasn't harsh to everyone - only the ones he cared about. But his stature is intimidating. At a little over 6' tall, with far inset italian eyes that looked through every shred of your own self pride, this guy was a tough man. Sure he could be compassionate when he wanted to. Those days were few and far in between. If you were there to talk shop you talked shop. If you were there to talk about life and feelings you talked about life and feelings. This guy have pretty good advice. We shared many of the same experiences growing up especially family dynamics. I think he knew where I was coming from. To a certain extent I knew where he was coming from too.
"So what's this about the stupid fuckhead part?" I asked. "Yes, you're a stupid fuckhead." I looked at him for just that moment. He looked back with that cold dead glance. "Well, what the fuck do you want me to say? Hold your hand tell and tell you that you're brilliant, tell you good job, give you a fucking gold star on your bluebook? You're old enough to figure shit out. And stop giving me that fucking sad puppy look, you prick." Did I mention that this guy cussed a lot for a professor and a Brother, no less?
At that time I couldn't restrain the thoughts in my head. I told him that as much as I learned I felt like I was getting dumb. Dumb and dumber. As if I felt myself losing my brain. That I was scared. At that moment he softened up. "You know what your problem is? You're transitioning to actually using your brain for the first time in your life. Knowing what I know now I can tell you all day about the things I don't know about. That's a side effect of learning. You become aware of the fact that you don't know about things which you previously didn't know existed. You and I belong to a small group which entertains thoughts most other people will never have. I say that you get a life and get used to it. It never goes away. It never goes away. It never goes away." You always knew when he meant something because he repeated it three times.
Was it true what he said? At first I didn't get it. Only now do I start to really appreciate that as fully as I should. Of course I knew and know I don't know everything. But I didn't know how that squared with the feeling of utter inadequacy. I know I'll never know anything about physics other than the two courses I took in college. If I had the mind for it I would've liked to be a physicist. If his thesis is right I feel so inadequate because I know there is a whole new world that is inaccessible to me and will always be inaccessible to me. Compared to what I know right now and what I hope to know or what I know is possible to know, my knowledge really is just a grain of sand in the ocean of infinite knowledge.
So what now? Hell if I know. But I thank him for bringing that to my attention. Thank you, my dear friend. Thank you for awakening that within me. Thank you, where ever you may be.
Monday, November 2, 2009
kaua i ka holoholo ka'a 'oni ana ka huila lawe a lilo
An old friend recently found me on myspace. Yes, myspace. I mean who uses myspace anymore? That is so late 1990's, so early 2000's, so high schoolish. For some reason it was myspace. Anyway, there is this quote that he put in his profile: The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything they have.
Knowing him I know that it isn't simply a quote he thought was thoughtful or deep. He lives by words like that. Such a simple person, true to himself. For as long as I've known him he's been one of the happiest people. He isn't happy because of what he has or what he has done but because of who he is. What a beautiful way of seeing the world. What a beautiful man.
I have been so anxious about the application process. This is the last sort of degree I can get. I am ready to get out of school and start working. This past summer reconnected me on so many levels to the community at home. For the first time in a very very long time I was amongst fellow kamaaina and kanaka maoli. You can tell who they are. They have a sunny soul. You can't help but be drawn to people so grounded both in the land and in their genealogy. Whenever I start to feel stressed out I think of the real ho'onalu attitude of those I know back home. I think that is what I miss about people at home. No matter what happens they know things will be ok. They've got their spirit and family. Nothing can seriously harm them.
Looking at the situation in another way it can appear stagnant. Take my own family for example. True people of the land. Dey try foa talk lai dis all da time. Dey no ken talk english good kine so nobody take em for real lai dat. As how. As how I had grow up talking. When I stay at home as as ok lai dat. Ho brah, ho dis, ho dat. Ho, we go ova hea, ova dea. Ho, you know what her had say? Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas. It is unfortunate that Hawaii creole is equated to low intelligence. Some of the most intelligent people I know speak only "pidgin". Indeed, my most heartfelt conversations are only in pidgin. But when I olelo haole, speak English, my family can't understand me. It used to frustrate me because I felt they needed to know that there was a bigger world out there which demanded proper grammar. The key insight: If we cannot speak on our own terms in our own home, where else are we to carry on the kamaaina lifestyle? If we cannot be ourselves - simple, bare, uneducated as some will say - when will we be ourselves? Let's keep the Hawaii in Hawaii.
My mother barely graduated high school. My aunt graduated from UH. My uncle has a high school diploma. My grandfather had a third grade education. My grandmother graduated from high school. Despite their deficiencies they are the most intelligent people I know. Why? Because at the end of the day they use their educational sets in the best way they can. So what if they haven't all gone to college? They've been educated in their own way. It is an education that I have also learned from them, too. When I told them that I would be going to graduate school in Berkeley one of them replied, "You no stay pau yet? Why, you had fail?" I replied, "No, I never fail. As for people who go to school after college." Another one then said, "Why you gotta do that for? Stay home with us. Come, make money. Make yourself useful. I don't know what 'graduate school' means. I don't know where Berkeley is either. But Dus, I know as nothing compared to what we do ova hea." And you know what? Both of them were right. What I do here is absolutely nothing to the sorts of things I do at home.
My mother has always taught me about how to properly respect the forest. We'd go up into the kuahiwinuis to pick traditional flora - palapalai, ohi'a lehua, maile, and of course, mokihana berries. Most of all, she taught me how to ask permission from the forest and to take only what I needed. She taught me how to leave ho'okupu in thanksgiving. Same with my uncle. Ho'opuku to the ocean for giving us fish. He showed me how to read the bird piles, how listen to the ocean, how to look at the surface of the water to see small fish. It was here that he introduced me to ho'ailona. Ever since then I knew the land would provide for me if I was humble enough to slow down, show respect, and know that I was at the mercy of creation.
Right now the family is struggling with money problems. On top of that there is plenty of family drama. A few years ago my aunty and uncle had almost hanai this one girl. She always came around and being only a year younger than me she'd tell me about some of the school gossip. Cute girl. So we took her into the family and she was always around. A couple of years ago she got hapai from some guy. When her daughter was born she asked my uncle and aunty to be godparents. They were happy to do that. Then about a year ago she got hapai again from another guy. At this point, the family wasn't ready to take another godchild on. Every time I went home I saw these three people in my living room. No blood relations. They were just there. Now the girl wants to go and meet new people. My aunty and uncle can't "control" her any more. All kinds of drama. I won't be sucked into it. My mother and I knew this day would come so we aren't shocked. Yet this situation has caused a certain divide in the family. All kine pilikia going on.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that no local family is perfect. Lots of drug abuse, lots of unwanted children. Alcoholism. Homicide. Suicide. Obesity. Depression. But for all of this they still hold true to what they are: proud sons and daughters of Hawaii. They never forget where they come from. I count myself blessed to me a part of that.
If I should fail at getting into a PhD program, if I should fail at school, at academic success, I know that I have a culture which would affirm me, challenge me, and force me to grow in ways that I am not at the present moment. I have a love/hate relationship with my culture. We have so many problems but even more blessings. At this point in my life I want to do something different than our traditional ways of living: I don't like the idea of going home and fishing for a living. I don't like the idea of growing my own food. I love the idea of reading and doing theology. But sometimes life doesn't work out that way.
At this point it is important to remember who I am. I am kamaaina. I am a Kauai boy, sprouted from humble roots. I know the land and the land knows me. I have seen the beauty of the islands and its pitfalls. The blood that flows through me is the same blood that my ancestors have shed toiling in the fields, clinging to mountains, collecting from the sea. I am part of them and they are a part of me. I may never amount to anything significant in my life. Indeed, I am certain of that. But I will always carry with me the pride to know that I have been formed by a worldview which encourages me to make the best of what I have, to be grateful for what has been given me, to make things a little better than what it was before I came across it.
In short, these are the kamaaina and kanaka maoli virtues. We practice these virtues because it brings us to our own integral flourishing. In practicing these virtues we recognize that we are really connected to one another - historically, aesthetically, culturally, and in spirit. We are all united in something greater than ourselves. It is the land, the air, the water which brings us together and sustains us. How I have come to miss the islands!
Knowing him I know that it isn't simply a quote he thought was thoughtful or deep. He lives by words like that. Such a simple person, true to himself. For as long as I've known him he's been one of the happiest people. He isn't happy because of what he has or what he has done but because of who he is. What a beautiful way of seeing the world. What a beautiful man.
I have been so anxious about the application process. This is the last sort of degree I can get. I am ready to get out of school and start working. This past summer reconnected me on so many levels to the community at home. For the first time in a very very long time I was amongst fellow kamaaina and kanaka maoli. You can tell who they are. They have a sunny soul. You can't help but be drawn to people so grounded both in the land and in their genealogy. Whenever I start to feel stressed out I think of the real ho'onalu attitude of those I know back home. I think that is what I miss about people at home. No matter what happens they know things will be ok. They've got their spirit and family. Nothing can seriously harm them.
Looking at the situation in another way it can appear stagnant. Take my own family for example. True people of the land. Dey try foa talk lai dis all da time. Dey no ken talk english good kine so nobody take em for real lai dat. As how. As how I had grow up talking. When I stay at home as as ok lai dat. Ho brah, ho dis, ho dat. Ho, we go ova hea, ova dea. Ho, you know what her had say? Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas. It is unfortunate that Hawaii creole is equated to low intelligence. Some of the most intelligent people I know speak only "pidgin". Indeed, my most heartfelt conversations are only in pidgin. But when I olelo haole, speak English, my family can't understand me. It used to frustrate me because I felt they needed to know that there was a bigger world out there which demanded proper grammar. The key insight: If we cannot speak on our own terms in our own home, where else are we to carry on the kamaaina lifestyle? If we cannot be ourselves - simple, bare, uneducated as some will say - when will we be ourselves? Let's keep the Hawaii in Hawaii.
My mother barely graduated high school. My aunt graduated from UH. My uncle has a high school diploma. My grandfather had a third grade education. My grandmother graduated from high school. Despite their deficiencies they are the most intelligent people I know. Why? Because at the end of the day they use their educational sets in the best way they can. So what if they haven't all gone to college? They've been educated in their own way. It is an education that I have also learned from them, too. When I told them that I would be going to graduate school in Berkeley one of them replied, "You no stay pau yet? Why, you had fail?" I replied, "No, I never fail. As for people who go to school after college." Another one then said, "Why you gotta do that for? Stay home with us. Come, make money. Make yourself useful. I don't know what 'graduate school' means. I don't know where Berkeley is either. But Dus, I know as nothing compared to what we do ova hea." And you know what? Both of them were right. What I do here is absolutely nothing to the sorts of things I do at home.
My mother has always taught me about how to properly respect the forest. We'd go up into the kuahiwinuis to pick traditional flora - palapalai, ohi'a lehua, maile, and of course, mokihana berries. Most of all, she taught me how to ask permission from the forest and to take only what I needed. She taught me how to leave ho'okupu in thanksgiving. Same with my uncle. Ho'opuku to the ocean for giving us fish. He showed me how to read the bird piles, how listen to the ocean, how to look at the surface of the water to see small fish. It was here that he introduced me to ho'ailona. Ever since then I knew the land would provide for me if I was humble enough to slow down, show respect, and know that I was at the mercy of creation.
Right now the family is struggling with money problems. On top of that there is plenty of family drama. A few years ago my aunty and uncle had almost hanai this one girl. She always came around and being only a year younger than me she'd tell me about some of the school gossip. Cute girl. So we took her into the family and she was always around. A couple of years ago she got hapai from some guy. When her daughter was born she asked my uncle and aunty to be godparents. They were happy to do that. Then about a year ago she got hapai again from another guy. At this point, the family wasn't ready to take another godchild on. Every time I went home I saw these three people in my living room. No blood relations. They were just there. Now the girl wants to go and meet new people. My aunty and uncle can't "control" her any more. All kinds of drama. I won't be sucked into it. My mother and I knew this day would come so we aren't shocked. Yet this situation has caused a certain divide in the family. All kine pilikia going on.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that no local family is perfect. Lots of drug abuse, lots of unwanted children. Alcoholism. Homicide. Suicide. Obesity. Depression. But for all of this they still hold true to what they are: proud sons and daughters of Hawaii. They never forget where they come from. I count myself blessed to me a part of that.
If I should fail at getting into a PhD program, if I should fail at school, at academic success, I know that I have a culture which would affirm me, challenge me, and force me to grow in ways that I am not at the present moment. I have a love/hate relationship with my culture. We have so many problems but even more blessings. At this point in my life I want to do something different than our traditional ways of living: I don't like the idea of going home and fishing for a living. I don't like the idea of growing my own food. I love the idea of reading and doing theology. But sometimes life doesn't work out that way.
At this point it is important to remember who I am. I am kamaaina. I am a Kauai boy, sprouted from humble roots. I know the land and the land knows me. I have seen the beauty of the islands and its pitfalls. The blood that flows through me is the same blood that my ancestors have shed toiling in the fields, clinging to mountains, collecting from the sea. I am part of them and they are a part of me. I may never amount to anything significant in my life. Indeed, I am certain of that. But I will always carry with me the pride to know that I have been formed by a worldview which encourages me to make the best of what I have, to be grateful for what has been given me, to make things a little better than what it was before I came across it.
In short, these are the kamaaina and kanaka maoli virtues. We practice these virtues because it brings us to our own integral flourishing. In practicing these virtues we recognize that we are really connected to one another - historically, aesthetically, culturally, and in spirit. We are all united in something greater than ourselves. It is the land, the air, the water which brings us together and sustains us. How I have come to miss the islands!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
pokarekare ana
The people in darkness have seen a great light...
- Is 9:2
Last night I drove to SFO over the San Rafael Bridge then over Golden Gate Bridge because the Bay Bridge is currently down for repair. As I approached the Golden Gate, traffic was heavier than I've ever seen it. It literally took me twelve minutes to go across the span - twelve minutes which remain to me until now. The setting: sunset. The sky was a turning a deep pink. To my left I could see the city lights just turning on and the dark bay. To my right I could see the sun setting over a thick bank of fog. I drove over the bridge and saw the two massive cables rise on either side of me. It was as if the bridge's cables were like two giant arms outstretched to embrace me.
Suddenly I flashed back a few years ago. I remember when me and my four other classmates were asked, "Are you ready to open your arms to others as Jesus opened his arms on the cross for you?" We replied in unison, "We are, with the help of God."
I thought about that just at that moment. I couldn't hold back the tears. I wept openly as people drove in their lanes. I can't describe what happen. But I have made peace with God. I could feel it, know it, and "be" with it.
I've been going through a pretty dark period in my spiritual life. There have been times where I haven't loved as I was supposed to. Thoughts creeped in there that shouldn't have. In short, I failed to live up to my promise. At times I didn't know what was going on and everything was a blur. A darkness came onto me and took away my vision. Things looked pretty bleak. The weird thing is that I didn't tell anybody about this, save one person. Some knew something was going on but I kept it inside. The last time I told a group of friends about my spiritual crisis they got really concerned. There was no need to worry this time, though I was in a profound spiritual privation. That changed last night, as I have said. I can feel the grace within me again. Everywhere I see I see the presence of God. It is as if the fog has been lifted, as if the light has come to shine in the darkness. I've come to trust, to let go, to love more freely.
Today I went to Mass for the first time in a long time. I had stayed away because I was quite angry with God, the Church, and myself. But today I couldn't help but feel so energized as I approached our Risen Lord in the Eucharist. He abides in me as I abide in him. So what does this imply on a practical level? Well, I should return to being more "me". It's not that I've had a mask on. But I have purposely kept my self away from most people.
If there is one thing I like about myself it is my sense of hope. I usually describe it as optimism around people who will react more positively to that word but what I really mean is hope. Hope is seeing the light when nobody else sees it. Hope is looking for the good in others even if they don't appear to be good. Hope is loving fully and completely, even if that isn't reciprocated. And above all, hope is one of those things which propagate from person to person. When you're around a person who has hope you can't help but somehow feel hopeful too, even if just for a little bit. I can admit that some of my hope was dormant over the past few weeks, but it is back again, stronger than ever.
So back to the original question: Am I ready to open my arms to others as Jesus opened his arms on the cross for me? If opening my arms to others means that I will accept people for who they are although they could care less about me, if opening my arms means loving more unconditionally, if it means to see with eyes anew, to embrace without fear of being hurt - in short, to love fully as a Christian, then yes, I am ready to begin again. I don't anticipate being perfect. Nobody ever is. But what is divine about second chances - or third chances all the way to hundreth chances - is an undying hope in the other. A friend, a family member, an acquaintence - all children of God who will hurt and be hurt. That is certainly no excuse to give up.
Yes, to live in the virtue of true hope: that is my vocation.
- Is 9:2
Last night I drove to SFO over the San Rafael Bridge then over Golden Gate Bridge because the Bay Bridge is currently down for repair. As I approached the Golden Gate, traffic was heavier than I've ever seen it. It literally took me twelve minutes to go across the span - twelve minutes which remain to me until now. The setting: sunset. The sky was a turning a deep pink. To my left I could see the city lights just turning on and the dark bay. To my right I could see the sun setting over a thick bank of fog. I drove over the bridge and saw the two massive cables rise on either side of me. It was as if the bridge's cables were like two giant arms outstretched to embrace me.
Suddenly I flashed back a few years ago. I remember when me and my four other classmates were asked, "Are you ready to open your arms to others as Jesus opened his arms on the cross for you?" We replied in unison, "We are, with the help of God."
I thought about that just at that moment. I couldn't hold back the tears. I wept openly as people drove in their lanes. I can't describe what happen. But I have made peace with God. I could feel it, know it, and "be" with it.
I've been going through a pretty dark period in my spiritual life. There have been times where I haven't loved as I was supposed to. Thoughts creeped in there that shouldn't have. In short, I failed to live up to my promise. At times I didn't know what was going on and everything was a blur. A darkness came onto me and took away my vision. Things looked pretty bleak. The weird thing is that I didn't tell anybody about this, save one person. Some knew something was going on but I kept it inside. The last time I told a group of friends about my spiritual crisis they got really concerned. There was no need to worry this time, though I was in a profound spiritual privation. That changed last night, as I have said. I can feel the grace within me again. Everywhere I see I see the presence of God. It is as if the fog has been lifted, as if the light has come to shine in the darkness. I've come to trust, to let go, to love more freely.
Today I went to Mass for the first time in a long time. I had stayed away because I was quite angry with God, the Church, and myself. But today I couldn't help but feel so energized as I approached our Risen Lord in the Eucharist. He abides in me as I abide in him. So what does this imply on a practical level? Well, I should return to being more "me". It's not that I've had a mask on. But I have purposely kept my self away from most people.
If there is one thing I like about myself it is my sense of hope. I usually describe it as optimism around people who will react more positively to that word but what I really mean is hope. Hope is seeing the light when nobody else sees it. Hope is looking for the good in others even if they don't appear to be good. Hope is loving fully and completely, even if that isn't reciprocated. And above all, hope is one of those things which propagate from person to person. When you're around a person who has hope you can't help but somehow feel hopeful too, even if just for a little bit. I can admit that some of my hope was dormant over the past few weeks, but it is back again, stronger than ever.
So back to the original question: Am I ready to open my arms to others as Jesus opened his arms on the cross for me? If opening my arms to others means that I will accept people for who they are although they could care less about me, if opening my arms means loving more unconditionally, if it means to see with eyes anew, to embrace without fear of being hurt - in short, to love fully as a Christian, then yes, I am ready to begin again. I don't anticipate being perfect. Nobody ever is. But what is divine about second chances - or third chances all the way to hundreth chances - is an undying hope in the other. A friend, a family member, an acquaintence - all children of God who will hurt and be hurt. That is certainly no excuse to give up.
Yes, to live in the virtue of true hope: that is my vocation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
