The Legend of the Shadow Stash

I'm trying to grow a mustache. My poor little follicles are eking out as much keratin as they can.

The metaphor that I'd like to make in relation to my mustache is something powerful and tangible. I would like to say I have a handlebar mustache. But that would be dishonest. I have to use something more ephemeral. Yes, I have a soot mustache or a smoke mustache. How about I reference the stealth and invisibility of the ninja? Yeah, I have a shadow 'stache. 

Philosophy

I have been learning about some philosophers and it is rad. I am learning about how this dude Hegel believed in an absolute conscious. I reminds me of the trilogy by Philip Pullman. In it everyone has a ghost that goes to live in the world of the dead. The protagonist takes part in freeing these ghost from the world where they become part of the atoms of the universe and retain a level of consciousness. 

What reminds me most of Hegel is the substance called dust. Dust is elementary particles that have consciousness. In the novels people consult this consciousness using various methods.  

bye for now 

i will speak more on these things later

Well type really.

No name

My dad bought me a real slackline. It is 120 feet of purple webbing and 5 steel D carabiners. It has a smell that reminds me of a vague memory. It is a memory of being probably around 13 years old.

 I used to admire, respect, and fear the bold, tough climbers. It seemed that each person had no fear of climbing, had a full knowledge of the methods, and was a part of an undefined club. That is what I thought of them.  I don't imagine it was really like that, but I didn't necessarily understand things as they were. I saw through the very thick lens of my preconceived ideas and emotions. 

 When I walked into the basketball gym there was the climbing wall over in the corner. The busy energy and the eagerness of the climbers seemed out of place set in the corner far from the usual location of activity in the gym. I felt excited by the hope that I might experience some of this, and wracked by the fear that I would be accepted. I felt very intimidated.  As I ventured closer I hit a wall of smell. It wasn't bodies or sweat, it was the rope.

That is the complex smell of my slackline. 

a little more

I was thinking more about the idea of seeking quick joy verses seeking a later joy. It takes trust to seek a later joy because it does not come now. That is the struggle and why it is so easy and temping to use things that one can control to bring oneself joy. It is the reason capitalism is so successful. While for me watching a video was the quick joy, for many buying stuff is. ( A quick note: I am aware of balance, and a person needs to judge for one's self what is best. Also, I am not saying that all purchasing is improper.) I personally believe that there are many unneeded purchases going on with extreme consistency. I am not as concerned with fiscal irresponsibility as much as I am concerned with emotional pacifying. I wonder why do I care if folks or more accurately I,  satisfy my desire for joy with petty things? I don't see a direct reason, but I do see an indirect one. It seems often and likely that an uncontrolled pacifying becomes, or leads to a lack of drive to seek true, lasting, deep joys. 

I didn't sleep well last night. This morning I had thoughts of spending time to rest today. At one point the thought came to me that I should go read a mag. or watch some videos. Then another thought came that seems to be better. It was, "Although watching or reading entertainment might be fun and seemingly encouraging, the pinnacle of goodness, fun, and joy is found only right then and there, and it is small in height. Do, instead, something that will bring a more voluminous joy." (To be honest this is not a direct quote my thoughts are not as eloquent.) It seems that perhaps things that bring direct, immediate joy tend to bring a more miniscule joy. Where as to find one's cup running over, the process is more extensive. For example if I chose to work on a project, the completion of that project becomes a fertile field for a large portion.

I am thankful to the Lord that I had the second thought in my head. God is wonderful. 

love b

Short Story

Bib Jefferson was fair skinned, short blond hair and dark brown eyes. 

"Bib! Bib?" His classmates heckled. "What kind of a name is that? Stupid."

Bib didn't care. He had friends and a great family. 

Clink, clink, clink. It was two degrees below zero as Bib meandered across the playground. He liked to kick chunks of ice as he walked. They would clink and rattle and eventually shatter. No matter. There was plenty of ice. There was a comfort in kicking the ice. Other kids talked and played with friends, Bib knew that, and there was a feeling that he should be doing that too.  But the little chunks, the repetitiveness, the... 

Some time, a long time later Bib sat in a flexible, black plastic chair. It would flex slightly. Bib rocked nervously, remembering the ice of his youth. "Now," He thought, "The ice is gone." It felt like he couldn't focus, like he had a brain cloud if there was such a thing. His body ached. A feeling would swell up in his chest, almost in his lungs. Everything seemed awful. He knew it wasn't true, that he should be feeling differently. 

Things will change, there is hope. Bib knows.

By the way Bib changed his last name to Jefferson. It used to be Granger. 

the end  

So I was talking with my friends about church.

I was informed during the talk that much of church tradition finds origins in pagan practice, and at any rate isn’t biblical. I, having felt much dissatisfaction with business as usual, pondered another way, a more maverick-y way. 

Is there a more biblical, more naturally evangelistic, more inclusive, more relationally based church model?

This is probably a commonly asked question. Perhaps it is not the most important issue, or even a marginally important issue. I don't know. 

I am curious.

The point isn’t to gouge a chasm between people. The point is to live the most effectively we can. The point is to try to find out why something is done and discern if it is valuable. 

Another

I wrote this poem in high school also. I wrote it about a real hole that I dug. I had a flight jump suit that I wore. No shoes, I dug little ledges that I stood on to get in and out. My dad warned me that a person or animal might fall in. So I stretched barb wire around the top of it.

When I turned the poem in the response was an assumption that the poem was about death. That is not what I had intended. I had always thought graves were 6 feet deep not 7.

                    Shovel, Buckets, pick,

    When I was little I dug with a stick,

    Come rain or shine

                    digging for fun is divine

    I dug a hole 7 feet deep

    The walls of the hole are very steep.

     shoveling is hard

     rocks make me retard

     Someday I'll be done

     and  so will my fun.

poetry time!

this is a poem that i wrote in high school. i wrote it based on a story my dad told me about someone he knew who dug a well by hand to avoid paying for his water.

                                          A MAN DUG

                                          A         WELL

                                          BY      HAND

SO THAT HE WOULDN'T HAVE TO GET WATER RIGHTS

                                                BUT

                                LITTLE DID HE KNOW

                                             ABOUT

 A SEWER LINE THAT RAN BY THE WELL AND LEAKED.

Oh me

I liked this post so much I decided to post it twice

My friend bought me a pair of vibram five fingers. they are intended to give one the bare foot experience with out the sometimes troublesome event of things like two inches of glass firmly cleaving the bottom of one's foot asunder. hasn't these sharp objects ever been to a wedding- what God has joined let no man put asunder- oh it says man not sharp thing. my bad

oh I love them

let no man me and my five fingers put asunder