Like a Life in Warsaw

To Hurt is to Hide as to Love is to Share Happily and Enthusiastically

2009-12-08T05:39:00.000+01:00

Once upon a time, my soul had been described as "an old soul." I've often heard conversations that analyze philosophical issues and the depth and maturity of my viewpoints on many issues have astounded many of my close friends, if I give fully them the honest insight that I possess. Sometimes, I do not give people the honest insight of my thoughts, because they don't really care about the topic.

In March or April of this year, I and my then-girlfriend, discussed our viewpoints on the concept of love. She confessed that she didn't believe in it and proposed a different viewpoint that couples had only matching characters. I defended the concept of love and at some point she confessed that she couldn't say she loved anyone, because she was afraid of being hurt.

I thought this to be an incredibly sad thing to say or believe, because honestly, who cares about what could happen? For me, I think love is the most wonderful gift that we humans have to offer. Why do I want to hide something so wonderful for the sole purpose of protecting myself from getting hurt? The answer is: I don't want to hide one of the most essential parts of the human experience simply so I'm not hurt by the person I love and am in a relationship with.

I've noticed a characteristic about my own personality that I believe is quite profound that regardless of being hurt, I would still enthusiastically love the next woman. I don't think people should be afraid to love each other. For me, hiding away the most essential parts of my spirit simply because I got hurt by her is nothing short of absurd.

The number of days that you have in this life are unknown — don't be afraid to live it, experience it, and especially don’t be afraid to love.

PraySecret II

2009-11-11T15:43:00.001+01:00

On page 177 of a book in my apartment is a secret that I left behind several months to possibly a year ago.

PraySecret

2009-11-03T03:18:00.002+01:00

Several years ago, I was in a certain city and stumbled across a church. Inside, there was a book for guests to sign. I signed it with a prayer. I don't know if I will ever know the answer I asked for.

Jesień jest tutaj

2009-09-29T11:06:00.003+02:00

Autumn has descended on Warsaw and it is beautiful. The temperatures, like the leaves on the trees, are falling and the nights have become somewhere between mildly cold and cool.

Something about the atmosphere of Warsaw tells me that this autumn, winter, and coming year will be good. The Varsovian atmosphere is like a fine wine in which you taste a variety of wonderful flavors like apple, plum, honey, and vanilla. The wonderful flavors of Warsaw are love, the unexpected, and great memories with great friends.

I know the this will be a great autumn, winter, and new year.

2009-09-22T01:04:00.002+02:00

I'm feeling much better about life in general and I've been thinking about how to improve the quality of my life and I've decided on the following.

I want a quality relationship with a beautiful woman that loves me. I want her to be honest, intelligent, funny, sociable, and driven. I would like for her to show her loving emotions to me and I would like to do the same to her.
I want an interesting, challenging, fun job. I want to be the most successful person in that position and become the most essential employee for that company.
I want to show my gratitude that for all of the quality people in my life and help them to enjoy their lives even more.
I want to be happy and helpful to people. I would like to start volunteering with the Habitat for Humanity of Warsaw and help build houses for families. I would like to ease the suffering of people.
I want to finish writing my novel.
I want to learn to play an instrument (preferably the piano or violin).
I want to become more culturally aware and attend a ballet performance in Warsaw. It would be even better if I could go to the ballet on a date.
I want to have a very close relationship with G-d, again.

Miłosc To Jest Płuszowy Miś

2009-09-15T19:33:00.002+02:00

I celebrated my birthday by throwing a party and going to the club. It was a pretty good party for such short notice and under the circumstances.

It's funny how my plans changed literally with one text message and the worst news I've received to date. My original plan was to spend my birthday with someone special by taking her to the restaurant with me, coming back to my apartment and watching Slumdog Millionaire, and having a nice little dinner before walking her back home and going to sleep.

That was my idea of a perfect birthday, but, things change and it turns out love is only about plush teddy bears and flowers.

Three Letters and 1348

2009-05-11T21:54:00.002+02:00

Last night, I was with my very beautiful girlfriend at the Doc Review festival that's going on at the moment.

We tried seeing one film, but it was sold out and several others were suggested, but I had no interest in soul singer James Brown or some doctor in South America, so we ended up picking one about a car, a Beetle to be precise. The Beetle KFZ 1348 is a fascinating film and, to be honest, it's not really about the Beetle that the film evolves around. The film is about eight Brazilians, all of whom at one point or another owned the Beetle.

It's a fascinating array of characters that owned the car and who end up telling their stories, at first about the car, but then about their own lives. The owners range from a successful businessman to a drug addict turned into a Believer to an old rambling loon, who doesn't even know when the First World War began. I found an enormous quantity of symbolism in the ending, which further solidified my appreciation for the film, although few other people seemed to share my opinion.

During the screening, a bunch of people left, which I thought was curious, especially as I loved the concept of film.

Iceberg

2009-04-29T19:39:00.002+02:00

It's said that in reference to a problem that is large that the most obvious part is "just the tip of the iceberg." That's because, only a tenth of an iceberg's mass is above the sea water and the remaining 90% is below the surface.

So, even if a ship sailing through waters manages to avoid the 10% of an iceberg that is above water. The ship may hit a remaining portion of the 90% that is submerged.

That's precisely how I've felt lately. I've been trying express myself, but when I describe the ten percent of the problem that is most obvious people have dismissed the problem entirely or offer up some advice and settle on a solution. Typically, when I see someone truly has a problem, I resort to asking questions like: why? how does that make you feel? or I go back and reword something someone says to make sure I understand. I do this because I know that someone may only be telling me one tenth of the problem and that I will need to see the other nine tenths before I can do something to help them.

But, a few of the people that I've tried discussing my concerns with have not done this and they give me their solutions to the ten percent of the problem at hand, but ninety percent remains unacknowledged.

This inability to express myself to someone has left me very frustrated and on top of that, I've cut the shit out of myself using an electric "razor" and I ended up being bitterly angry for the past few days.

Wonderwall

2009-04-28T00:21:00.000+02:00

I like this song.

Nightmare

2009-01-03T05:59:00.003+01:00

The other night, I had a nightmare. The first that I had had in many years. It was the sequel to a dream that I had a while back, but that was not a nightmare, although it was nonetheless scary. This one was a nightmare, because of the consequences of what was happening even though I woke up before the climax and conclusion of the nightmare could be played out. It was all so realistic too, which frightened me.

The New York story

2008-12-25T06:16:00.003+01:00

New York has given me a new twist in the story of my imagination that I have been writing for some years now.

It's a sad twist that allows me to run with the ending of the story that I was able to write before the beginning. The ending is beautiful, but to some it will be tragic. But, to see beyond the words and to feel the emotion of the story is where the beauty lies.

Cincinnati Subway

2008-12-16T00:05:00.000+01:00

Cincinnati has a subway, but it was never completed and no train ever rode through the subway. I love Cincinnati.

Black Friday

2008-11-28T08:05:00.002+01:00

In the States, today, the day after Thanksgiving is known as Black Friday. I've been up the entire night slowly organizing cleaning. My roommate woke up just a little bit ago. Now, I'm smoking sheesha by myself.

Yesterday, I got to spend the day with Americans eating turkey, mash potatoes, and all the staples of Thanksgiving. The day was decent until about 17:00 when I met up with a friend that called me. I missed the person I wanted to hang out, but the day was saved! I hung out with my friend and had a coffee in the Centrum of Warsaw. Shortly before 18:00 I hopped the subway and made my way down to where my favorite lady was and got to spend about 2.5 hours with her, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I like listening to her and we had a great conversation on variety of topics. We walked back to her place and walked her dog, which I now call "Casanova."

Fine print

2008-11-10T13:57:00.003+01:00

Google's terms of service with regards to this website could, in theory, but I'm not sure about the practice, allows Google to use any materials I post in any way they see fit. Thus, I often dumb down the way I write, so as to maintain the propriety of original thoughts. Say, I think of something in a beautiful way. When I decide to share the concept on this website, I translate the way it was invented in my mind into a less poetic and less interesting way, because I don't want my original thoughts, though I doubt them to be so profoundly interesting to Google, to be subject to rape.

Greetings from Ohio, Mr. President-Elect

2008-11-05T05:27:00.002+01:00

Casanova burns in hell

2008-10-23T21:17:00.004+02:00

This night must be serious, because I'm listening to jazz. I've been entangled and strangled in the newest dilemma of life and though I feared I may have emerged somewhat mangled. I think I have finally found closure to the acts which had wrought my spirit for some time.

Now, I'm a free to do as I wish, but I am still confined by who I am, which is good, because I'd rather not be someone indecent.

Basic Training

2008-08-17T06:18:00.001+02:00

I've completed Basic Combat Training (BCT) and am now officially a soldier in the U.S. Army.

PBS

2008-06-05T23:24:00.002+02:00

Women with PMS are cruel. It took me a few days to get pissed off about what was cruelly said. Originally, I brushed it off as PMS, but that does not justify it. And what was said, goes back to making languages all confused. As usual, no one speaks what they mean.

There will never be a reason for being as heartless as that. Not even a 1000th of a fraction would be appropriate. Especially, when what you say could be ruin a person mentally, spiritually, or emotionally.

I beg you, if you ever read this, to never pull anything like that again.

This post was made possible by viewers like you.

Psalms 23 for a friend

2008-06-04T20:45:00.004+02:00

My best friend for the past 10 years died. It will be weird to go home and not see her again.

So, regarding my question about Heaven, I had a friend that asked me what Heaven was and he asked if it was a where you went and waited for your loved ones to show up. I told him I didn't know and that I imagined it was rather a place where we went to worship the Lord without the interferences of our worldly desires.

I'm not even sure everyone gets into Heaven.

But, for my friend, I say:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me besides still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I well dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

Lord, please bless and accept her into Your Kingdom and protect her there.

Coffee Is Pregnant

2008-05-25T19:34:00.001+02:00

One of the most beautiful things I bore witness to was the breakup of a couple.

Heavenly vision

2008-05-24T21:38:00.003+02:00

I have a question for everyone and please post any thoughts as a comment (If I'm not mistaken, you can do this anonymously).

What do you envision Heaven to be like and to happen there? What will be there? What would not be there?

Material bad

2008-03-17T22:04:00.002+01:00

Why is money worth anything? Seriously, it's a piece of paper with truly very little value when you break it down? Paper money would be of more service if it were turned into paper to record the thoughts of minds or burned to keep the homeless warm.

How do we permit ourselves to believe that money can be good, powerful, and valuable, yet, and even I am guilty of this, we can not believe the Word of the LORD GOD? I do declare, this is a curiosity!

We worry about paying bills and buying materials, yet, we do not realize that life is far more valuable than some object.

I bring this up, because I have been struggling with the money as a preoccupation and I recently read Luke 12:22-34.

2 Corinthians 3:17

2008-02-22T09:17:00.003+01:00

Once upon a time I was in Detroit with a friend. We were wandering around and we came across a building where upon the facade was an inscription.

The inscription read:

Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.
— 2 Corinthians 3:17

Now, since I believe the American people have the best intentions at heart for the world I created an artwork to express that.

Kawa i barista

2008-02-01T22:56:00.001+01:00

I spent much of the evening in the warmth of my café. For the most part, I spent it reading The Historian, but I also indulged in reading a few lines from The Holy Bible.

I love the barista, she's a recent addition to the café and very beautiful. I admire her whenever I look up from my book, though, she is unable to know that, unless she happens to come across this blog.

Kebab

2008-01-08T03:22:00.000+01:00

This may be highly unusual, especially for someone who had previously spent a total of 9 1/2 months in Europe, but I had my first kebab in mid-October 2007 or so.

I was suspect of kebab and I guess I resisted it, because I was a vegetarian for six years. I still am, but no where near as strict as I used to be. It took Herr Niggemeyer (Also known as Schröder) to introduce it to me and convince me it wasn't evil. My first kebab was the most amazing experience ever and I must confess, I do not expect to find any kebab the quite compares to the one I have now mastered in Warsaw.

Now, I must give into the divulge the details. Schröder had been searching out kebabs, because we were attending the same orientation session for foreigners at Collegium Civitas. One lecturer was introducing us to Polish lifestyle, customs, and speech and told us that the best kebab was located across the street and there over. I suspect that we never actually went to the place she told us to go to, but I'm glad we did not. Schröder told me he thought he had been to the place she recommended, but was disappointed so he brought me to another place he had tried and enjoyed. It was Green Bar and is so amazing I've included it in the Wikitravel guide to Śródmieście. In we walk and we discover the cook speaks English. Again, I was vegetarian and hesitant about eating meat, but I decided to ask if the meat was halal. This surprised the cook and he told me yes. I assume he didn't lie to me so I agreed to having a chicken kebab. He asked if I was Muslim. I told him no and went on the explain why I asked if the food was halal when I was not Muslim. He set about cooking and preparing the kebab and handed me the finished product, which was nothing short of delectable.

In the ensuing days, I became increasingly obsessed with the delicious kebab. So much so, that Schröder and I covered another six or so kebab shops in about three or four days. Nothing compared to this first kebab. I eventually kept going back to Green Bar and negotiated with the cook until we discovered my preference for the spicy sauce. He was worried when I told him I wanted it three times hotter than the hottest he had ever given me. He copped the idea of using the base for spicy sauce without diluting it. Let me tell you, it can be profoundly hot and spicy depending on how much I ask him to use.

By this point, I had introduced another American I go to school with to Green Bar and had him hooked. I even have a few Irish students hooked. Now, when I walk in Summer (the cook's name) and I exchange greetings (I usually greet him first with the Arabic greeting) and he redundantly asks "The usual?" Like I even need to respond... I've become so addicted to kebab, I'm now in three times a week, if not more. I'm trying to ease myself off, but I haven't succeeded, yet. I'm even beginning know Summer a bit more than I know my own family members! For example, Summer is from Baghdad and I invited him to my new years eve party (he would have been V.I.P.).

The sick thing is I've experienced many, many kebabs in Warsaw now and Summer's kebabs simply do not compare to anything anyone has ever had. Now, unfortunately, his coworkers don't speak English well enough to get my order as great as Summer has it down. I'm actually a tad worried about what will happen when I graduate and need to return to the U.S. I'm thinking of trying to convince Summer to come with me. I'd set up shop for him in Dearborn, so he could be in the Iraqi community and I'd take weekend trips out to eat kebab.

I know this is probably one of the craziest blogs you've ever read, but, truth is, Summer's kebabs are amazing and I need to tell the world to get one when you're in Warsaw.

Photographs will follow someday and hopefully one day in the future I will be able to upload the flavor. Talk about Web 2.0.

Two scoops of sugar

2007-12-02T16:46:00.000+01:00

Previously, I have proposed the question "What is two scoops of sugar in coffee or tea?"

I had an intense, but brief conversation this weekend about the matters of life. The conversation was a bit unexpected, but reminded me of the question that I once proposed to anyone who may have come across my blog.

What few people probably recognize about me is that I often contemplate philosophical matters, which we all do from time to time. Some time ago I was considering the communication of feelings.

On occasion, I am suspect of one's communication of feelings, because depending on the tone, the situation, and the person; the speaking of "I love you" seems to be callous, calculated, and violent. Or maybe I have a fear that my own articulation of "I love you", or "I care about you", or even "I am thinking about you" will sound callous, calculated, and violent.

Whatever it is, my preference for my own the communication of such feelings and the way such feelings are communicated to me are through non-verbal media. For me, the way a woman should express her love for me or even if it's not love, but admiration and interest is to pay attention to those small, mundane preferences I have. As such, two scoops of sugar in my coffee would tell me more about how the person feels toward me than what I may correctly or incorrectly perceive as callous and cold verbal expression of love.

I have noticed other people also prefer two scoops of sugar in their coffee or tea and I learn these things, because if it is her preference, then it's important to me. Of course, learning how someone prefers her coffee is not the only idea as the best possible expression of love, admiration, or whatever, but I like this example, because if you wake up and are making your girlfriend, wife, or whatever coffee in the morning before she wakes up you are showing her that you care about those mundane things she prefers. Can there be a greater expression of love than making her the perfect cup of coffee?

The Night Before Christmas

2007-11-17T09:42:00.000+01:00

At the moment, I am humming along to John Denver and talking to an Irishwoman with whom I go to school via a social networking website. The temperature outside is 28° F, my roommates are all snug in bed, and all through the house not a creature was stirring; not even a mouse.

I finally feel like I am in Warsaw. It's a feeling of despair. It's something I have not felt in a long while, which was almost three years ago at, strangely enough, the greatest time of my life.

I recently acquired some knowledge of a situation, which annoys me, because of the childishness involved. The despair is a part of the acquired knowledge, because for whatever reason I am not supposed to live according to my beliefs, preferences, or mistakes.

Specifically, I should not befriend whomever I would like to befriend, nor should I admire whomever I would like to admire, nor should I find someone attractive, just because of someone else's preferences, nor should I do whatever I would like. I am utterly confused by this because what do the people I befriend, admire, find attractive, or whatever have to do with anything? I am also confused by the accusation that my actions are reprehensible. I have done nothing reprehensible with the possible exception of the fight between myself and a Polish xenophobe, however, I would contest that my actions of injuring the guy were not overly reprehensible, because I followed the instruction of turning my cheek to an evil person so he can hit me on the other cheek¹ for a time before I struck back.

Oh well, not much I can do about that. I'll just go ahead and befriend whomever I so desire, I will admire whomever I so desire, and I will find attractive whomever I so desire. Everything is good because I am still and know².

¹ Reference to Matthew 5:36
² Reference to Psalms 36:10

Feta: The Sequel

2007-11-15T00:12:00.002+01:00

Fuck it — I'm eating just the feta.

Feta

2007-11-15T00:08:00.000+01:00

I am eating salad just so I will have a reason to eat feta cheese. I love feta.

Two scoops of sugar

2007-09-28T10:12:00.000+02:00

What is two scoops of sugar in coffee or tea? Anyone care to guess?

Collegium Civitas

2007-09-25T11:32:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I received an email from Collegium Civitas accepting me into their program. I will now be in Poland for the next three years, which is great. I want to be in Poland.

Reality Fatality

2007-09-21T02:07:00.000+02:00

Reality is fatality
Fuck the formalities and totality
You gotta be in a state of irrationality

Screw this, literally

2007-09-08T15:58:00.000+02:00

Today (Wednesday, September 5, 2007) I was investigating my apartment in Warsaw. Specifically, I was trying to figure out what seemingly useless switches were supposed to accomplish.

There’s one switch in my room that does absolutely nothing, which is kind of annoying. Later, I ended up in the kitchen and realized there was yet another switch, possibly two that do nothing. However, I noticed there is a lamp above the refrigerator that did not have a bulb. Figuring that could be the cause of the possible failure for the switch to work I turned off the ceiling lights, which only two of the three had lighted bulbs in it.

While doing so I noticed that one light socket was actually occupied by broken bulb. Suddenly and without warning, the handyman in me kicked in to full gear and I set off to purchase tools, but specifically I wanted some pliers so that I could twist the damn thing out.

Well, let me tell you, hunting down tools in Poland is the hardest ^%$&@#* thing to do. As the Warsaw Hilton Hotel is literally next door to our apartment building I went there to ask someone. I figured I could ask someone where a hardware store was and they’d be able to look it up for me.
The receptionist, without missing a beat, told me exactly where to go and even told me what side of a mall I could find it on.

I caught a cab out to the mall, which was fairly big, so I went straight to the information desk and asked the woman manning (pun not intended, but left in intentionally) if she knew where the hardware/tool store was. She told me to go to the second floor and go straight and it’d be on my right.

I went to the second floor, which according to Poles was the first floor. After realizing the Poles’ mistake I went to the third floor. I went straight and finally came across some sports store that vaguely resembled a hardware store. After realizing I’d never get a salesperson to understand the concept of pliers (it was a hunch) I decided to go to the bookstore several doors down and use a Polish-English dictionary to find the translation of “pliers”.

I committed the spelling to memory S-Z-C-Z-Y-P-C-E. I went back to the sporting goods store and asked to use a pen. I wrote “SZCZYPCE” down on the back of a business card and showed it to the cashiers, who denied having pliers for sale.

Somewhat flabbergasted, especially because they had all kinds of wrenches and bicycle tools, I left. I continued looking for the damn store and finally went back to the information desk and asked the woman to write down the name of the store, which she did. So I again set off in search of the “hardware” store, allegedly called “Smyk”. When I found “Smyk” I was stunned to find that it was a children’s’ clothing store. I had absolutely no idea how the woman misconstrued “hardware” and “tools” to mean I was looking for a children’s’ clothing store.

I then wandered over to the Marriott, which wasn’t far off, but it did take several minutes to reach. I asked the receptionists for “pliers”. He asked me if I wanted it for music or something. I said no and showed him the writing of “Szczypce”. ‘Ah,’ they exclaimed with new enlightenment. They wrote down the name of a store, or at least what he thought was the spelling – the name is French.

They said there should be one in the mall I just came from, so I set off, yet again. This time, however, rather than screw around looking for the place I went straight to the information desk and told her I was not looking for children’s clothing, but a “Szczypce”. I showed her the name of the store I was looking for and she told me I’d need to take a tram to the “Arkadia” mall, which was 20 minutes away. I actually believed her this time around, so I left. I again headed over to the Marriott, this time to ask the concierge if she would know of any stores that would sell pliers. By this point I was laughing about how ^%$&@#* hard it was to find any tools in Poland. I was even further amazed that anyone was actually able to build anything in Poland.

The concierge gave me a condescending tone when she noticed that someone had written “Smyk” (the children’s clothing store) down on the back of my business card. I simply snorted at her statement that I wouldn’t find a “szyzypce” there. I figured that out.

She called a “colleague” and found a “garden” store about a 3 minutes’ walk from my apartment building. But, the stores were allegedly closed. It was well after 19:00 CET by this time. I caught a taxi back to our place and gave up on my search, deciding to pick up on it until tomorrow.

At the moment, I’m writing this at the bar of the Warsaw Hilton, which is a lovely building, if I don’t say so myself. The bartender, a tall man, is a genius. Or at least I’ll find out tomorrow, because he confirmed what it took two receptionists at the Marriott and a woman from the mall I spent hours searching did after several hours. That there is, in fact, a French hardware store at the mall “Arkadia”. I really hope this bartender doesn’t let me down, because I feel he deserves an excellent tip.

Starbucks

2007-07-30T13:46:00.001+02:00

Why do we, in the US, consider Starbucks to be romantic? Maybe romantic is the wrong word, but why do we consider this the place to ponder all kinds of topics, as if we are philosophers or something?

I like the people at my local Starbucks, but it doesn't have the feel a coffee shop should have.

Inspired

2007-06-13T04:03:00.000+02:00

I've been inspired to complete a novel, or rather a story, I've dreamed of for years. The inspiration for the story came from a dear friend in London, who wrote six simple words that struck a cord. I thought about the story for a couple of years, but I just couldn't find the right inspiration to tell the story in a meaningful way. As a result, I gave up on it.

Recently though, conversations with another friend have inspired me to write and finish the story. I may end up blending two separate stories together. Both have strong characteristics and I had been intent on keeping the two stories separate, but now I'm being convinced that the scenarios of both stories belong together.

I hope I do finish it.

Forsook

2007-06-11T22:39:00.000+02:00

Background info: I wrote this a couple of days ago because I was annoyed and upset by a situation. The words incorporate a few experiences I had three years before I became renounced, though the players and locations have changed.

Am I forsaken
just because I hadn't partaken?
The answer is yes,
because we never want the best
just what we know is temporary,
because that is contemporary
Say that I'm renounced
but be sure to bounce
I might be dis'd
but recognize you're not the one missed
It always comes back to two years, two months, and a week
Like I'm the meek
Well, I shall inherit
the world as a reward for my merit.
— Andrew Haggard

Meanwhile, in a separate world from my own, yet very similar to my world, something similar happened to someone I know. I feel the pain being experienced by this person and I'm kind of pissed off at myself because I can't show this person any compassion, though I want to. It's a matter of logistics.

The departure of loving souls

2007-06-06T01:51:00.000+02:00

What happens to love when one half of a couple dies? Where does the love go? Does it simply die with the lovers or does it go on living eternally ever after?

If a man and a woman become one flesh in marriage, what happens to the connection after the husband dies? It's these thoughts that made me fucking sick to my stomach. Does death mean the connection is severed like there had never been a relationship or love?

So, I pose this question to anyone with any insight: What happens to love after the death of the loving and beloved?

Everyday things

2007-06-03T09:37:00.000+02:00

I notice things in ways I suspect other people do not. More specifically, I see God's work in a lot of 'plain' things.

Show me a car and I'll show you God. Show me a piece of glass and I'll show you God. Show me a cut on your finger and I'll show you God. Show me a wooden chair and I'll show you God.

But, where I am impeccable at finding God is in those moments of despair, when we are lost and confused. Tell me of your troubles and I will show you where God is. He is always closer than you think.

This is the insight I have, but I've never really explained it to anybody in depth before, but then again, no one has ever asked. I don't go around advertising my ability because I don't think people would care to know. I also think a person will get his/her healing by God through two primary sources that we often overlook. I'm not going in to further description about this on a blog, but if you'd like to know, just give me a shout.

Lights explode

2007-05-31T10:21:00.000+02:00

The light on the chandelier just went. It died a violent death, first a spark, then darkness, then one last flash as a forgetmenot. Then, darkness. The room would be dark, if it were not for the surviving light bulbs.

I'm wondering if that's how we all go out. We spend our days lighting the philosophical room, then when we die it's this one small moment — poof — we're no longer. Our existence and memory fades, just to be replaced by a new light, so the emptiness (or darkness) left by ourselves gets covered over.

I've already thrown the bulb away.

Unknown Languages

2007-05-30T14:00:00.001+02:00

I just realized what one of the big draws of travel is for me - the complete and utter ecstasy of not knowing anything about what's going on. I was looking through photos of Paris and I only have one that I'm the subject of. I'm on top of Arch de Triomphe. The background: a metropolis of some twelve plus million francophone speakers and no one knows who I am, what I do, what I think, or that I simply don't care about some things. Ecstasy.

I'm beginning to feel apathy toward a lot of things and I'm really desiring an escape from all the crap that has gotten me to this point. I blame society for chaining itself up into stupid stuff like the so-called "immigration debate" - the only people who care are Lou Dobbs, Arizonans, Texans, and illegal immigrants. The rest of us really don't care and don't think about the topic until Lou Dobbs says its conspiracy against the middle class. Ask me if I care if Lindsay Lohan has a drug problem, or if Paris Hilton is going to jail, or if Anna Nicole Smith was having affairs with whoever. Sorry, I don't care. There are a few more important things like... say, a genocide in Sudan. I do wish Ms. Lohan and Hilton the best of luck, but even the slightest sympathy is hard to muster.

This may be selfish, but I'd rather put the world aside at times so I can just tell someone:
"I love you, with no conditions." Can you imagine that!? Wow, it'd be fantastic, but I can't do it because of the facades people wear and the mixed up messages they speak. I'm guilty of it too sometimes, but I try to remain facade free. The issue I'm having is that I'm no longer myself. Nope, I'm just a faceless person being spoon fed topics and discussions I have no interest in.

That's why I am so anxious to get to Poland, where I can just have some of this lifted off of me and where I can just be myself. I haven't adequately expressed the draw, but to be in a city of 700,000 or so where almost no one speaks English and to surround myself with people I can simply love without all the hassle of politics or without people expecting me to say all these idle words. It'd be amazing.

I can't stress the magic of being in a place where you can only communicate with a select few. All the stress of the world disappears and strange words and emotions take a heightened level of importance. Forget: "controversy," "scandal", "Paris Hilton", "Lindsay Lohan", "star", or "celebrity." The only thing that is important in these new worlds are those people you're with, those relationships you're nurturing, love, and God.

Composition

2007-05-29T08:16:00.000+02:00

Last year I was attending a conference on Harvard's campus and at some point I decided to get something to eat and I wandered into the Uno Chicago Grill near Harvard Square.

I was seated in the rear of the restaurant, next to a man hunched over a piece of paper making painstakingly calculated lines and shapes with a ruler. I was mesmerized by his movements, but I restrained myself from asking him about his drawings, which I could tell was part of a musical composition.

After I finished eating I contemplated the consequences of not asking this man about his work. The thought of missing out on the slightest opportunity to understand how something so beautiful is born would have been too much on my conscience that I decided to leave the world of ignorant appreciation for the world of enlightened appreciation. It's a new world that I have yet to fully understand, but I'll be more than willing to cross that void that separates everyday life, from the enriched life.

I did my best to politely interrupt his work and asked him a few questions and he divulged that he'd originally been hired by symphony in New Orleans to write a composition, but then Katrina hit so the contract was canceled. Later, he got another contract to write the composition for another symphony, but he couldn't just hand in the previous work because the new symphony was significantly smaller than his previous employer so he had to rewrite it for
this new symphony. He also explained that he made the precise lines and curves with the ruler because unless the composition is 100% legible (even if it was 99.99% legible) the symphony would cancel the order and simply state 'We've decided no longer to perform this piece.' or something else to circumnavigate telling the composer: 'You've got crappy handwriting and we're not going to take chances trying to read it.' As a result of the perfection that's demanded it'll take him several months to finish composition.

I hope one day I'll hear his composition, but chances are I won't. At least I already appreciate what he's done without experiencing it.

A tear in the ocean

2007-05-12T11:48:00.000+02:00

Last night I became troubled, like a sailboat on the sea up against the rough waves that precede a storm.

After sometime I managed to fall asleep, but when I awoke I was more troubled than before and now I feel like a storm is about to hit, which will cause my ship to capsize and I'll drown in the unfriendly waters. I can't accurately describe the feeling because it's a varied emotion.

It all started with a quote I read that someone else was using to apparently describe her feelings about a situation. The quote she used was: "I dropped a tear in the ocean. The day you find it is the day I will stop missing you..." The author of the quote is unknown, but for whatever reason this quote has stuck with me over the past couple of hours and I'm actually getting physically sick by it. There are differing aspects of this comment that bother me, but I won't get into all the details as to why I'm bothered.

The reason for why I feel uncomfortable about the quote is the pain that's expressed in the quote. The original author was likely deeply troubled over someone who departed from their path. There are no shortage of options or scenarios. The author may be referring to a lover, platonic friend, mother, father, brother, sister or child and it's all the options that bother me also. I'm not sure why.

What's probably either the worst or second-to-worst aspect for me is that the person, who used the quote, is a person I care about and she is likely also troubled or pained. First of all, I'm troubled by the pain the original author felt, but when it's someone you care about that is feeling pain, the feeling is more intense and very disheartening. I'm not even sure of the specifics regarding the situation that caused this quote to be used, but that's somewhat besides the point.

I'm normally a very content person, but this just has me uneasy, confused-like, and worried. It's not like I have any logical reason to be, but it was enough to cause me to awake and stay awake.

When I first saw the quote I was confident that the tear would be found. One aspect of my reasoning was that everything in life is connected and, as such, a tear in the ocean will in some way affect not only the person for whom the tear was shed, but millions of others. In the fashion of a parable... via evaporation that tear would go to the clouds and, in theory, rain down on the person for whom it was originally shed.

Plus, using my self as an example, if I was the person for whom the tear was shed I would do my utmost to find it, even if it'd take me a long time and a long path before I did.

As my ship capsizes, and water fills my lungs, I feel much close to this tear.