Visions of the Church from the Futon: Part 2

When I had passed through an unbelievable vision (and trying to liberate my weary mind from nonsense) I came upon another vision, as likely as the first, though I couldn’t remember anything backwards or forwards. In refusing to conjure up some mythical dream from my offensive subconscious, I feel like I should just tell you about the current state of my local surroundings until my fingers finally help me in remembering that which is unrememberable. For instance, the rain, which has pelted the roof of my house for the past 2wo-ish hours is something of a programmed sequence; as if God were calling himself to my attention, not that he needs it, but that what his infinite wisdom has prescribed to be in my best interest, is yet beyond my sight. Pay attention to me and my superior world, which I prepare for you, he says, as if he were talking to a day-old friend he’s known for years, in a way that only I would understand. Not in another language per se, for I am the furthermost from bilingual that a human is allowed to be, while still sustaining existence (for my friend tells me that life is words that are assorted in the color of language and understood as such [and I impose my own view that life could consist of words from multiple language{s} :though the emphasis is there whether I add it or not: >for the plural was there to begin with<:>}]). Furthermore my vision returns via the remnant of quiescent memory. There were again, three mice squatting on the rim of a glass looking into the great of abyss of ebullient drink. They too began micing their way at the drink as if the foamy film were a think to be carefully nibbled (as these mice could walk—just as the others—they were not the same, and not only that, but no proper vision would suffice to detect mice drinking anything). Unfortunately, there was another fall: two mice this time collapsed into the unforgiving lager. The third, dry mouse, considered himself blessed, for immediately (and I use that word without the help of the hurried saint) the two mice began to squabble over the rights of drinking freedom. While the two saturated mice began to wrestle with translucent furry in their eyes, the third began to polish his nails. After having attained a formidable shine on the endmost portion of his paws he returned his stare to his two regrettable friends only to notice that they had driven each other to the bottom of the glass and lay unconscious at the basin. Considering himself the best of friends that any honest mouse could hope for, he decided it proper to rouse them by spilling the beer and the great treasure across the coffee table. This proved to be an adequate solution to the problem at hand, namely the survival of his friends, for as he knelt down by each he took great measures in slapping them in the face and farting loudly to finally disturb them from pungent comatose. When they finally came to, they blamed each other for the squandered bounty in which they had lain. Quickly realizing their folly, they began to attack their third and innocent friend, who had saved them (despite his efforts to make peace during the initial debate). Their friend, feeling betrayed and forlorn over the situation, left them without saying a word (for mice can’t really speak, and it sounded to me more like a frustrated squeal). The sopping mice represent the American Church. After being immersed in that which they seek, Christians often dispute each other over the freedom that they should share (never fully experiencing the joy of their surroundings). God has designed the Church to be a collection of people, so receive God’s grace and stand firm in the faith, overflowing with love for one another.

Dear Nearly: Part 7 "Non"

you must be thinking, "he'll never do it." well, while you're still moping around with your prolonged indecisiveness, perhaps you're right; but would you just allow me temporary leave as i have repeatedly requested, i might just team up with Actually and Finally to do what i've meant to do. they've been calling me for weeks, and due to my undivorcable relationship with you, i haven't answered or returned their calls. as i went to work yesterday, it was already done in my mind (the resignation fulfilled in my inner man), yet i postponed myself. so i'm still here, but i quit. the funny thing is, i don't even feel like i'm working anymore. because i don't have to stay, it feels like i never came. sure, this is probably the work of Elusively, but he's doing a fabulous job, if it's him. i began deleting contacts from my cell phone and erasing files from my computer last Friday. this past weekend i thew away some files and wrote a 10 page resignation that, Nearly, will be reduced to 1 page as is fitting for public record. it's not that i don't want to be here; i'm not here--so, Nearly, now it's tolerable. i know that's so like Unusually to say, but i've always been impressionable, and i find her quikiness quite alluring. despite my demands and impressions, and purstuis, one thing remains and one thing only. apparently, suspended in a state of non-abdication, i'm resigned to hold resignation for another day...(photo by: Sherri Youngward)

Tea Olive Sprigs & $26.67

i'm not a mystic but people can sometimes unexpectedly surprise you. it was one of those days, raining since whenever the senses began to convert from REM--peaceful and tranquil--exuding charming humidity. then you realize that you're at your buddies house and you left your shoes at home, and so it happened for me. i slipped on my bed-room slippers without considering the whether gods cruel sence of irony as i left my house. i concluded while still in bed that my shoes would be getting wet. i was all-too-correct.

as i left my friends house that morning, i noticed his mother was in the front yard trimming a few sprigs from a Tea Olive bush (OSMANTHUS FRAGRANS). after making small talk she offered me a whiff of one of the aromatic sprigs in her hand. i did so and was so amazed that i asked her if i could take a few with me, more to remember that there is wonder in that which is natural, than to remind myself how distant my world is from that which is natural.

then my friend chaufered me to pick up my car from the shop, which underwent several sub-suspension repairs, and amounted to a handsome fee. it's okay. i knew going to the shop, and i had recieved a price estimate that day before. well, when i stepped into the Goodyear lobby--a civilized, emotionless waiting room--i looked at my hand only to discover three sprigs from a Tea Olive bush. lucky me. it souldn't be difficult explaining to an oily-fingernailed, scruffy, leatherneck mechanic the purpose of the flowering greenery in my hand.

should i explain to him that i'm not much of a utilitarian? should i detail the events of that morning, and how the pleasant aroma just made my day? should i stuff them in my pockets like a felon smuggling Canadian pharmaceuticals? or should i just offer him a whiff of the "fragrant Tea Olive blooms"? i did that latter, which he appreciated with the advent of a light in his eyes like a small candle at the back of a dark cathedral.

i then explained my monetary situation and the quote i had recieved the day prior. almost immediately, i noticed that the price on the sheet he examined had a hand-written price exceeding what i had anticipated. then he said, "let me see what i can do for you." after about ten minutes of silence from the both of us, during which he flirted with his computer keyboard, he was able to give me the quoted price, exactly. it turns out he saved me $26.67, (and i think) all for the ambrosial experience from a Tea Olive sprig. (photo by: Tatsuya Sato)

Visions of the Church from the Futon: Part 1

After I closed my eyes to gain some rest on a restless, rainy evening I began to swirling in a slumbering darkness. A vision came to me in this state revealing three mice crouching on the rim of my glass. They looked into the beer-well with expectancy and wonder. Then they began to…well I would say drink, but they are mice after all, and it looked to be more of a liquid-nibbling of the beer. Suddenly (and in the way of St. Mark, I say immediately) the third and furthermost mouse tumbled into the intoxicating deep; accidentally or purposefully I cannot say, for he was a very small mouse with a very peculiar face. Nevertheless, he was trapped and all I could say was that he fizzled with translucent pleasure. The other two, seeing that their friend was in danger, looked on with perplexed jealousy. How could their comrade and fellow miniature felon leave them stranded with their aggravated nibbles, while he swallowed for dear life? After only a few suspended seconds passed, the inadvertent culprit mouse lay on the base of the empty glass with a satisfied glimmer on his face. His friends then tipped the glass and dragged him out. And as he stood (for in this vision, mice adroitly walk on two feet without concern for food or scraps—it is also these that cower over victuals) he embraced his once-lost friends and seemed to almost hold them up in love. This shocked them (for although they are mice they have read many articles about the effects of beverages on “scavenger beasts” as they came to consider themselves—more for the concept of being considered a beast than a scavenger, but their grasp on words was poor [after all, they are only mice and have never attended high-school], so they referred to themselves as “scavenger beasts”). They each took an arm of their consumptious friend over their shoulders (they were jealous not hateful) and as they walked, they realized it was they who couldn’t decipher their own steps, so the privileged mouse began to assist his friends and lift them from stumbling. They, then noticing this, refused his aid and concern (more from being embarrassed and ashamed, than from calculating themselves capable to walk without him). They then united (as it were, these two mice were always the ones arguing, yet they found cause to agree in this instance) and rushed upon their delighted friend, pushing him again into the now-empty glass and raising it as if they were the greatest of beasts. They cared not to stay and taunt their friend, for the sight of them spawned guilt in the very center of their little hearts, so they left shortly after with cold uncaring stares, as given from bitter friends, while he stared back hopeless and betrayed—leaving him jailed in the glass of his happiness, awaiting unlikely rescuers. Not too long thereafter, the unlikeliest of visitors approached the mouse, and his demeanor altered from that of one cooking a warm breakfast on a beautiful winter morning, to one hearing an egg negotiate with the kitchen floor. It was the sound of the cat purring at first that startled him, but when the cat had made several vain attempts at biting the base of the glass, the mouse leaned back once more and began burping with inimitable confidence and security. The jailed mouse represents the American Church. Shortly after an individual confesses Christ (or in some cases does so repeatedly) they are abandoned with invisible fears (yet no less real than glass). It is here that the Spirit of God reinforces our spiritual decision though it seemed to us, an undecided blessing. For though we may feel trapped and lonely, we are safe from he who seeks to destroy us, that is the evil one. The intoxicating passion of God's love is then the vestige and the virtue with which we should all embrace, uniting in love despite our glassy fears...(photo by: Tatsuya Sato)

"Behind the Blinds"

(photo by: R. Gardiner)

While reading in the living room
(the blinds had long been closed)
I heard a bird alight a branch
(some wren I’ve since supposed)

The only way I’ve come to know
(because the blinds were down)
Is cause, I saw its silhouette
(as on the branch it bound)

The bird began to wash its wing
(which fluttered in the breeze)
And then relayed the morning news
(to twisted, crooning trees)

Until it felt me notice it,
(it measured sweet respite)
And on the blinds, its shadow fell
(before it took to flight)

And then, I thought, it’s surely gone
(the blinds were in the way)
The shape became illuminate
(it must have gone to play)

Showcased Iniquity & Patronizing Sorrow

i just read that 16 people were killed in Nigeria today and most of them were Christians in the Maiduguri district due to the recent Mohammed cartoon. one of my closest Christian friends in High School is from Nigeria. were his family members murdered? cartoons are often silly and absurd (worst case scenario foolish, but this doesn't have to be a foolishness that's broadly recognized), yet the Muslim world is literally up in arms. the image of the prophet strikes sacred fear throughout the Islamic world, yet infidels scoff the "Great Plagiarist". still i was sad. it moved me to know that those murdered, embarked on the journey to the invisible land prepared for the saints; and they will stand beneath the crystal sea at the feet of Christ after the end of things. why am i sad? really, why am i so sad; these people are in paradise, awaiting the new heaven and new earth; awaiting their reign without waiting for royalty? why does the American media depict Iraq as a field swamped with innocent corpses? possibly because America worships humanity--dare i say the church. while i am an inadvertant understudy of the former, i am an eager member of the latter. humanity sells, especially in the wake of the sorrow of death. the Scriptures say that corrupt doctines will come that say what our itching ears want to hear.

now--it seems--iniquity sells, not so much due to the worship of humaity but rather because America worships choice. the will loves, does good, strives, expresses, and seeks to provide for utmost equality. right? besides most of the following list being falsely assumed as proceeding from the "will", they aren't all good in and of themselves. nevertheless, is this not the thought of civilization? the church has a more substantial position against iniquity, and the falleness of the will in general, but choice still sells. i briefly glanced at a new show on FX about the collision of belief. in it a rural, Christian, farmer from Michigan moved in to the same apartment as a man living a homosexually decadent lifestyle in the Castro district of San Francisco to see if his convictions would stand. the Scriptures say that bad company corrupts good morals, and if this Christian man intends on surviving as a witness, he will need active Christian encouragemnet. sexual sin unlike any other seems to pale in godless repetition. just look at The Picture Dorian Grey (or Oscar Wilde). like a product on display, the once promising qualities of sin embarassingly fade in the halogen lights of reality. as sin is publicized and grief grows distracting--"permitted" American idolatries whither and blanch in the face of Truth, which is most appropriately transferred somehere above the aperture of the larynx...(photo by: Wm. Rieppe Moore)

(re-reading my post, i realized i didn't really round it off [sorry Barbara]. i meant to say that "showcased iniquity & patronizing sorrow" represent something else, namely idolatry, or more specifically, the worship of "humanity and choice". the greater our belief in humanity, the greater the sorrows when examining death across the world: the greater the belief in the power of the will, the greater the attraction to a life of sin. so as a Christian, i want to express love to others by being a pollinator of Truth, that's made available to all by the blood of Jesus, yet belongs to no one.{photo by: Wm. Rieppe Moore})

Living in Shadows: Respice Finem

i'm reading the Death of Ivan Ilych, which i've read before. more light reading never hurt anybody, and--in fact--it has been sobering. the observance of death and obeisances doesn't scare me but many fear this. Gerasim, the sick nurse for Ivan Ilych calmly states, "it's God's will. we shall all come to [death] some day." his contentment unnerves one observer who concludes "why, that might suddenly, at any time, happen to me", which is fitting, for Gerasim was correct. we shall all die, and as Christians, we might say "i desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is better by far, but it is more necessary for you that i remain..." a life lived for Christ, grows in purpose and vision as we adhere to the leadership of the Holy Spirit. then we might "rejoice and be glad, for [our] reward in heaven is great", as Christ's words fill us with hope. greater still is the understanding of our eternal company; the saints who've gone before; the cloud of witnesses, and those who will follow in our example, which most magnaimously must be the servant-leader example of Jesus. doing so takes punctilious strides to labor over the Scriptures. apart from, yet a part of all that, in the presence of God, that which has been dimly revealed will be illuminated "for now we know in part, but then we shall know fully, even as we are fully known" as "the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself perfect, confirm, strengthen, and establish you." respice finem--consider the end as affecting the present...(photo by: Tatsuya Sato)

Dear Nearly: Part 6 "Saint Eve"

how many sleepless nights i've already spent on the eve of St. Valentine's Day, sitting, waiting, wishing; only to see my plans come to ruin the next day. Nearly, they say Valentine was imprisoned for rescuing Christians from jail, who were being heavily persecuted. now that's love. i wish i could say my St. Valentine's efforts were so noble; instead my focuses have ended up scattered confusions...Nearly, you know the nature of words--their very core meanings and their essential role to clarify. how many times words have become obtuse images and possibilities; as a peculiar confidence would swell inside of me: the confidence of a fool at a palace feast, the confidence of a cavilier before his romance! how often times my late-night-resolutions turned to a frightful cold sweat of uncertainty! how close i often came to making mad declarations to someone i didn't even know, about a topic for which there are so many songs! Nearly, i should be thanking you, i suppose, for being there as a healthy shadow of doubt--a memory of sanity during some of my more unfavorable moments of brash youth. the way words would bend (or collection or words) into a thought with its utmost extreme. i repeatedly recanted. you were there when the mirrors fell from the sky, my Master's work, showed me myself, and you saw me piggy-back from further to closer. (i, Nearly, came close to ending this letter poorly, but) now i look into the mirror of forwardness with expectancy--planning a dinner and a park visit with her, whom there is no divide. tonight St. Valentine will be preceeded by St. Eve--overflowing with excitement and wonder...(photo by: Tatsuya Sato)

Dear Nearly: Part 5 "Flashover"

it hit me like a bolt of lightning, not in its fatal power but in its alien intensity, which felt like a bath of 300 kilovolts. sure, it sounds like the "sighty" but it was much more of an external flashover because i never fully attained it yet it consumed me. and now i write, which is probably an unpromising venture. even so, i thought you should know, people embrace change, Nearly. "get to the point" you say, "i've got work to do." and yes i do know that January & February are your busiest months, where you prowl on weakened human will and ceremonious commitments; so i won't be taking up all your time. i think people won't be satisfied, Nearly, without change within change. for instance a new job means new people; a new house means new neighbors; a new member of the family (whether through marriage or birth), means more new members; and new etc, means vague possibility. change in change is like a passive greeting to the future, as changes for improvemnt remind us that we are all works in progress. don't suspend change in change by bringing them close to newness, only to make that newness vanish. allow people to meet and mingle; jest and laugh; vow and honor; work and earn. i guess, what i'm trying to say is ,"take a vacation for a while and when you return, you'll find the world full of fulfillment and lacking "almosts". like i said, i never fully contained it, yet it consumed me, and i now realized the reason is because i recieved a message for you that resonates in my circumstance: maybe while i renew my vacation from you, you should take vacation from the world...(photo by: Tatsuya Sato)

Imagination Partnership & Possibles

not too long ago i decided i wanted to pioneer and participate in an effort to unite artisty in a free, independant, esthetic community where authorship is forfeit in order to liberate the artistic element and heighten creative accountablity; where various members of the society amalgamate and adopt projects; creating, revising, and undertaking an art together--whether it be sculpting, painting, writing, or designing. it would be known as the Imagination Partnership. well since first thinking about this, i've discovered that my parents think i'm a communist (due to the non-authorship concept), and i've also learned a little about human nature.

people are apprehensive about creating, laboring, striving, and revising something, only to never be remebered. i don't think it's a depraved disposition, i just wonder why the Church, through the ages permits/promotes this. the Church places authorship on a lofty pedestal, especially regarding Scripure, as if the holy book also made it's authors inerrant and incorruptable. understanding a specific authorship isn't altogether fatuous, for it assists dating the text, highlights doctrinal voice, and etc... but it seems the Church concentrates on these sorts of matters with excess. agian, i am not accusing the quest to create--and the upshot of recognition--to be a sin, for God created the world, and it has been assigned to us to worship, praise, and recognize him for it. and God never expereinces a sensation of fear, but he does know jealousy--perfectly balanced by his holiness.

when one creates (this usually being a deliberate process), one resembles the Creator, but due to sin it becomes difficult for people to deal with going unnoticed (not recieving due accolade). it becomes especially difficult when one understands, "no one will ever know i worked on this project. no one will ever know this was my creation!" unfortunately the Imagination Partnership (which has exsisted for all the ages of the Earth, though not conceptualizing in my mind until eighteen months ago) called me to join as a member not an entity; a partner not a priority; a fellow not an ultra-unique-post-modern personality. a sound application of the New Criticism might be applied more broadly to the entire realm of art, and applied even to the extent that expressing one's authorship might become supurfluous. the main benefit, aside from a creative community, is the freedom to confess, "i'm only a visitor on this Earth, a sojourner, and what i created--we created; this is left for others to enjoy, without concern for me." but that blessing is the great obstacle of membership and also the great confusion as to leadership. maybe i should just hire some Bolsheviks.

because Imagination Partnership trips off the tongue like a felon, i have been considering an aptly abreviated term or name; something besides the I.P. Society. the article, the, should precede each of the following possible names: "somethings", "googles", "vanguards", "vocabs", "barelys", "utters", "bobbys", "virtuosi", "columns", "gettings", "edits", "scrupulous", "endings", "effings", "amators", "cadres", "periods", "colons", "stopings", "postals", "suckers", "locos", "commys", "indepentant unified society and art guild", "storys", or "chapters". i personally like "amators", "locos" and "colons". any insight, possibles, or revisionary ideas would be appreciated. it's a work in progress... (photo by: Elizabeth Dozier Steedly)

Before the Door: Professional vs Amateur

examining the root definitions of amateur and profession (or professional) reveals the irrececoncilable disparity between the two; or at least what seems beyond connection. i deem to ask why. why can't there be both appreciation and affirmation in one's career? i know what you're thinking, "poor man's stuck in a bad job," but that's not it at all, i really enjoy my job as an amateur (emphasis added) and avoid professional conversion, because it is the land of no return. along with this, i can amateur in several things simultaneously, namely photography, anthologized literature, writing poetry, cultural criticism. yet the ministry i'm involved in prompts me to have professional, infectious, flamboyant faith: the kind of expert faith that sells. but i am an amateur Christian (and by no means a professional Christian), which affects my entire life whether as an amateur boyfriend, an amateur movie critic, an amateur fanatic, an amateur servant of the needy, an amateur etc...

amateur takes root in the Latin, amator, "lover, devoted friend, devotee, enthusiastic pursuer of an objective", while it's most basic history is found in the Latin amare "to love" and there are different connotations and denotations, such as "one lacking a skill as a professional, as in an art; dilettante, dabbler". Bobby Jones spoke rightly when he concluded that he would never become a professional for the quest of livelihood (money) would taint his love of the sport, and that professionalism, in general, would damage the richness available in a love for sport. just turn on the television to an NBA game and you will see what i mean.

but let's not absolutely disqualify 'the professional' before affixing it's root to the discussion. the Middle English professen, "to take vows" originates from the Latin professus, past participle of profiteri, "to affirm openly", which demonstrates the modern meaning of professional; "a skilled practicioner; an expert; one who earns a living; an implied occupation. whereas the word within the word, profess means "to affirm openly; declare or claim almost religious in nature. yet there seems to be no connoted relationship between the religious or pious nuance of profess and the current use of prefession/profesional, which really doesn't bolster the case for prefessionalism.

thus the disparity: love vs. skill; passion vs. knowledge; and life vs. living--or the making of it (though i do not mean to create discrepency, only highlight its existance).

when i worked at the photo shop in Columbia Place Mall, i used to say, "we're all trained professionals" as a means to assuage any worries customers had about their prints or products. but why should they find solace from that? when what i am essentially saying is, "we allege to be self-admitted experts, trying to make a buck." the state director for my ministry has been admonishing me to become a professional minister, yet i am unsure as to my expertise, and am all-too-sure of my inadequacies. i love the Lord and don't intend on making a pie chart of his characteristics (which many have already tried, asserting themselves as 'professional believers' just before spiritually burning out); for He said, "I will again do wonderful things with this people, with wonder upon wonder; and the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the discernment of their discerning men shall be hidden" (Isaiah 29:14). it sounds like the professional loses all in all, and the God of Inversion wins out with His inexperienced, bohemian lovers, full of wonder and lacking no good thing. (please don't think i'm saying by this that professionals all go to hell--i'm just observing how God likes to use the unprofessionals to do unbelievable things for him)

still i'm torn between what i am being paid to become--a professional, and what i am content to remain, forever and always--an amateur. (photo by: Elizabeth Dozier Steedly)

Dear Nearly: Part 4 "Paranoia"

this time it was different. not entirely different, but the suspence certainly added to the disturbing sense of your presence. as if i ran from you, i drove expediently down the highway toward the wilderness. because i'm not willing to say, "Nearly, i went on a backpacking trip to the mountains of northwest South Carolina." at about the time that i finished talking to myself, i realized that you've become an unappreciated profanity in American use! it's almost as if you've become a byword in all civilized society. vernacular seems to have a better hold on you, than you on the people who abuse your name excessively. or maybe that vernacular has a hold on them... nevertheless, you're at the bottom of whatever power pyramid it may be. then i turned around, because i grasped that you prevail only if i permit my perspective to linger in the "thought" that i missed something. if i were to say, "Nearly, i hiked Chatooga Trail of Okonee County," or, "Nearly, i placed my foot upon three states at once at Eticott Rock," or "Nearly, i saw the mountains whispering with early morning grog," then i'd admit your prominence. instead i'll say, "i was sure to attend a Board Meeting Banquet," and "i treated my lovely girlfriend to a magical evening" and also, "Elizabeth and i discussed matters of pressing relevance in our relationship." i win! i'm victorious; not because of cunning preperation (you most definatley have the upperhand here), but because of wit. when it's all said and done, my "saying" excludes what would otherwise deliver chagrin (your presence), passing a possibility by the face to embrace another one; which is no less a fulfillment of what is done... (photo by: Elizabeth Dozier Steedly)