“Creation is the single greatest moment of forgiveness in any man's life. As it was in God's.”
That's a quote from Jesus, from some text which the Official Church deemed as heretic. Who among us can say what's politically correct? May he without any bias throw the first stone.
I've been wondering if Forgiveness can be so simply attained. More so, I've been pondering, “What did God do that required forgiveness? What triggered The Beginning? What Wrong begat The Word?”
I may be totally wrong, but I believe I've felt God's pain for most of my life--- Loneliness.
Even within the small confines of my two pound heart, I know that my love is infinite. In my life, there is infinite longing to Share.
What is light without reflection? Does the sun really exist without the earth? Can there be starlight without the night?
Some say that the story of Job is older than Genesis. It makes sense to me. Every babe knows that it didn't do anything wrong to be this hungry. So they cry out. It's not until much later that they have the awareness to ask, where did I come from? How did it all begin?
They say in the Beginning that God walked with Adam, that they shot the breeze together. Still the flesh was lonely. So God understanding Adam's pain forgave him by creating woman, knowing all the while that He, Himself would become the Gooseberry, the third wheel.
There are many arguments about Original Sin. There are many arguments about the meaning of the original words. I don't really care anything about that. Beauty lays in the eye of the beholder. Therein rides the crest of the double edged sword. Judgment. Before The Two ate of the Tree of Knowledge, they hadn't made the judgment call that they were inferior to God, they had been the best of buds. Not a care in the World. Not a stitch of fig leaves.
I lay awake at night, alone, in my crowded bed of judgments. Some people are too fat, some are too beautiful, others too self-absorbed, I am too poor, too mentally & bodily feeble for infinite love to be divine. I toss and turn under the covers of Madison Avenue, Fear driven government control.
I long for forgiveness. I long to create a story that will make everyone feel okay about their own Godliness. God didn't give anything to Jonah that he didn't already have.
Today, I cut my hair, cut my fingernails, brushed my teeth, and showered. Forgiving my descent into mortality.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Heroes Ho
I was taking a class on Heroes in mythology, when it began. My wife breezed through the door one day; said she wanted to be single, and booted me out of Home. I longed to be myth-like, and be the Hero to my three year old son, but legally, all I could do was wave goodbye, often.
Sometimes having a son is the greatest shame.
Maybe it was because we had lost the daily touch of each other that we grasped for any will to collapse the distance between us. Exploring our family heritage became a gift we shared that no person, no institution, no geography could take away from us. By God and Darwin, we shared the same ancient genes of a single Norse family that had been run out of Norway, taken flight to Iceland, shipwrecked off the coast of The Hebrides Our family were the only survivors. So we became Highlanders.
Sometimes having a son is the greatest understanding of 'The One and the Many'.
He's a History major now. Several Spring Breaks ago I helped him build his own Inuit style kayak. He did it without book or class, just off the Internet. I'd been dreaming this plan for years, but like most father's dreams, life didn't support them. A few weeks into his last college semester I broke out my plan. “For your graduation present, lets kayak around the Outer Hebrides,Let's go stand where the first of our people stood”.
He laughed. “Dad, no way! It's freezing up there!.... I was thinking about Iceland”.
My voice slumped, “Iceland?”
“Dad, it's Viking. Most likely, that's where we were headed when the sea took our boat. Let go to Iceland for them”. He's magical like that. “Dad, Iceland has hot springs in their glaciers. Not only that, but all the women are Hot!”
Sometimes having a son is a great comfort. Yes, there will be that.
Iceland became my bookmark, not only on the Internet, but in my heart's dreams. When I stepped down from the plane, I didn't see any of the scenery or buildings from the brochures. I was overwhelmed when the weather became my skin. Unlimited fulfillment shone bright and as warmly as encouragement in the mid-day sky. The spray of a thousand ' Thank You, Praise You' s from every plant cooled my skin. The Wind of Possibility caressed from the Southwest. The scent in the air instigating the sweet pollination of breathing. Even the sulfur taste induced by the Hot Springs felt as relaxing as a suntan. The everlasting contentment of the glacier cold. After a deep breath I wondered if every new place possessed the same magical climate. Perhaps even my little End of the Line Hometown once felt like this too.
Standing together on the ground he slaps my shoulder, “Hey, ol' man, do you feel it in the air?”
I look him in the eye, “Yes. It feels like home”.
His smile engulfs the horizon, “Just what I was thinking”.
Sometimes having a son is the greatest miracle.
It cost extra for a non-guided tour of the inlet. To spend this adventure between just the two of us, the ol' man and his hero we had to take a class from the place that rented my kayak.. How many centuries ago have guides been replaced by teachers? A guide knows his lessons protect your life from the painful consequences of poor judgment. Guides plant signposts in your expectations to stop, look, and listen to the Spiritual Experience of being overwhelmed by beauty, wonder, awe, and unbounded joy.
Dreaming and being the dream seldom honeymoon. But there in the Icelandic Sea, in a cove of glaciers and steaming hot springs beyond, rocked on the waters of promise and power older than Life, the young man of my first born sat in a working piece of art made by his own hands and passion—kayak as old as the Eskimo, and me-- the ol' man-- in the rented plastic kayak.
Breathing, paddling, seeing, listening, blinking all became taste. A taste you try to feed every cell of your being. Then, a whale broke the water, with a mission. I was capsized. My son's kayak of over a thousand generations of hand me down knowledge survived. The whale had come up between us. We were on different sides of the ripple. Somehow my foot had tangled with a strap inside my kayak, and it was upside down. I was bobbing up and down, taking in too much water. I never liked being in water over my head. And I rented the cheapest wet suit they had, also the thinnest.
His rescue efforts rivaled the Norse Sagas. I'm not saying that these waves were epically large, or that a flip flop of a whale compared to the the disturbance of a sea monster. No. But in the space of a bolt of lightening to be thrust into the charge of saving a loved one--right here, right now he and I might exchange our last look: knowing and ,yet disagreeing, “ Love absolves disappointment”.
That Fear is the greatest enemy.
As we both struggled against the fury of the sea, me at water line's mercy and his supremacy of this craft and its power against the sea, I heard him singing softly the melody and words I sang to him in times of trouble or bedtime,
“ Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink.
Water, water everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.”
He grabbed me, and pulled me close. As he vigorously rubbed my body to generate warmth I looked into his eyes and he smiled, “What's new Dad?”
I begged away from his gaze, so I could gather the courage to play act, “Since when did you start stealing my songs?”
His expression darts away as quickly as a humming bird's heartbeat and as poetic as a butterfly's dance. “First time”.
Embarrassing him has the same affect as getting Nature to reveal a secret. “Why?”
“Whenever I was weak from hopelessness, lovesick, or feeling sorry for myself, or just afraid of the dark at bedtime, you sang me that song. Because you sang it, I knew you meant that love was around me, so much love I didn't have a care in the world. It always gave me strength I didn't know I had”.
Sometimes, a grown child can be the greatest guide to redemption.
Sometimes having a son is the greatest shame.
Maybe it was because we had lost the daily touch of each other that we grasped for any will to collapse the distance between us. Exploring our family heritage became a gift we shared that no person, no institution, no geography could take away from us. By God and Darwin, we shared the same ancient genes of a single Norse family that had been run out of Norway, taken flight to Iceland, shipwrecked off the coast of The Hebrides Our family were the only survivors. So we became Highlanders.
Sometimes having a son is the greatest understanding of 'The One and the Many'.
He's a History major now. Several Spring Breaks ago I helped him build his own Inuit style kayak. He did it without book or class, just off the Internet. I'd been dreaming this plan for years, but like most father's dreams, life didn't support them. A few weeks into his last college semester I broke out my plan. “For your graduation present, lets kayak around the Outer Hebrides,Let's go stand where the first of our people stood”.
He laughed. “Dad, no way! It's freezing up there!.... I was thinking about Iceland”.
My voice slumped, “Iceland?”
“Dad, it's Viking. Most likely, that's where we were headed when the sea took our boat. Let go to Iceland for them”. He's magical like that. “Dad, Iceland has hot springs in their glaciers. Not only that, but all the women are Hot!”
Sometimes having a son is a great comfort. Yes, there will be that.
Iceland became my bookmark, not only on the Internet, but in my heart's dreams. When I stepped down from the plane, I didn't see any of the scenery or buildings from the brochures. I was overwhelmed when the weather became my skin. Unlimited fulfillment shone bright and as warmly as encouragement in the mid-day sky. The spray of a thousand ' Thank You, Praise You' s from every plant cooled my skin. The Wind of Possibility caressed from the Southwest. The scent in the air instigating the sweet pollination of breathing. Even the sulfur taste induced by the Hot Springs felt as relaxing as a suntan. The everlasting contentment of the glacier cold. After a deep breath I wondered if every new place possessed the same magical climate. Perhaps even my little End of the Line Hometown once felt like this too.
Standing together on the ground he slaps my shoulder, “Hey, ol' man, do you feel it in the air?”
I look him in the eye, “Yes. It feels like home”.
His smile engulfs the horizon, “Just what I was thinking”.
Sometimes having a son is the greatest miracle.
It cost extra for a non-guided tour of the inlet. To spend this adventure between just the two of us, the ol' man and his hero we had to take a class from the place that rented my kayak.. How many centuries ago have guides been replaced by teachers? A guide knows his lessons protect your life from the painful consequences of poor judgment. Guides plant signposts in your expectations to stop, look, and listen to the Spiritual Experience of being overwhelmed by beauty, wonder, awe, and unbounded joy.
Dreaming and being the dream seldom honeymoon. But there in the Icelandic Sea, in a cove of glaciers and steaming hot springs beyond, rocked on the waters of promise and power older than Life, the young man of my first born sat in a working piece of art made by his own hands and passion—kayak as old as the Eskimo, and me-- the ol' man-- in the rented plastic kayak.
Breathing, paddling, seeing, listening, blinking all became taste. A taste you try to feed every cell of your being. Then, a whale broke the water, with a mission. I was capsized. My son's kayak of over a thousand generations of hand me down knowledge survived. The whale had come up between us. We were on different sides of the ripple. Somehow my foot had tangled with a strap inside my kayak, and it was upside down. I was bobbing up and down, taking in too much water. I never liked being in water over my head. And I rented the cheapest wet suit they had, also the thinnest.
His rescue efforts rivaled the Norse Sagas. I'm not saying that these waves were epically large, or that a flip flop of a whale compared to the the disturbance of a sea monster. No. But in the space of a bolt of lightening to be thrust into the charge of saving a loved one--right here, right now he and I might exchange our last look: knowing and ,yet disagreeing, “ Love absolves disappointment”.
That Fear is the greatest enemy.
As we both struggled against the fury of the sea, me at water line's mercy and his supremacy of this craft and its power against the sea, I heard him singing softly the melody and words I sang to him in times of trouble or bedtime,
“ Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink.
Water, water everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.”
He grabbed me, and pulled me close. As he vigorously rubbed my body to generate warmth I looked into his eyes and he smiled, “What's new Dad?”
I begged away from his gaze, so I could gather the courage to play act, “Since when did you start stealing my songs?”
His expression darts away as quickly as a humming bird's heartbeat and as poetic as a butterfly's dance. “First time”.
Embarrassing him has the same affect as getting Nature to reveal a secret. “Why?”
“Whenever I was weak from hopelessness, lovesick, or feeling sorry for myself, or just afraid of the dark at bedtime, you sang me that song. Because you sang it, I knew you meant that love was around me, so much love I didn't have a care in the world. It always gave me strength I didn't know I had”.
Sometimes, a grown child can be the greatest guide to redemption.
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