somebody that i used to know

Earlier this month marked the year's passing since the death of David, a friend of mine that I only knew a short while and not nearly well enough while in Uganda. I regret that I never knew him better. It's scary, how many people we know, but don't, not really, and that we don't stay in touch with.

I want to do better. Know people better. Love people better. Remember people better. I forget how much hurt is out there in people's hearts. I forget how many stories of pain and resilience and hope and despair are driving past me on the freeway or sitting next to me in school or waiting in line with me at the grocery store or living with me. I forget to value the people around me. I forget to see them.

David was troubled by the suffering he saw around him. He said this: "I look with my eyes, but I haven't seen with my heart." I don't believe that was true in his case, but I understand the fear he had, that he wasn't caring enough. I share it. I want to learn to see better. I suppose this entry is simply to respect and remember both David and what he taught me. I believe David's life and legacy continues on in every life he touched. If you can, take a moment to pray for the somebodies you used to know or still know.



I'll leave you with a few videos I've been listening to while I remember.
Heart to heart, I wish you the best.

Fusgeyer

I was recently reminded of how I like to write.  I was looking at my different blogs from my times in different places, as I found different ways to be me. I'm back in Cali after a year in Philly, but still finding out more about me and the world. You know how that goes. I know next to nothing about it, but I often come back to the idea of being a fusgeyer. I looked it up again today, and found this:

They were known as the fusgeyer, the wayfarers. They ha sold their valuables, joined together...and made a common fund to ensure that all in the group could make the journey. This journey was often perilous. For some...they were compelled to cross the border at night... (Lawrence Jeffrey Epstein, At the Edge of a Dream, p.17)

Fusgeyers - yiddish for foot-goer (more or less) - were Romanian Jews often identified as gypsies who left Romania by foot during persecution in the late 1800s...ish. My grandparents were fusgeyers. And that matters, but that's not why I bring it up. I've never been persecuted, never had to flee my country.

But I connect with this concept of being a fusgeyer, in a lot of the same ways Christians connect with being sojourners in a foreign land, not destined to stay there. Where you're from and where you've been both connects you and separates you from others. It's often your choice if it's more of the former or the latter.

I've always been sensitive to separations and divisions, wondering why people group and exclude others. But I'm more comfortable with it now, because it can be done in a good way. It's freeing to accept how you do and don't fit in different groups, and to laugh at it or celebrate it as seems fitting.

Moral of the story? I don't know. Take a walk, fusgeyer. And have a laugh about where it leads you.

And definitely call someone a fusgeyer. They'll probably think it's a dirty word. Silly them! :)

Being Present

So the Uganda Studies Program I did had us read this book by John Taylor called Primal Vision. The author talked a lot about being present, so we did, too. Of course, he and we were only part of a conversation that goes back to the beginning, but it’s on my mind. We were urged to be more present with people in Uganda, and to be more present with God – to make where we were and who we were with our priority, instead of letting our mind go elsewhere. That means being a person who truly sees those that are around him or her, without being distracted or blinding oneself to something or someone.

When I was in Uganda, just a little over two years ago, I was oddly more present with some peeps back stateside than I had been before. Being present isn’t only about physicality – it is, I think, more about priority, how much you value the people you’re with, the relationships you have.

When I think about being present, fully, to me that includes really engaging your world, not just passively floating through it. You’re right there in the thick of it with hands dirty, not trying to stay off to the side. You’re present. Your heart’s there, in the work.

Music (and ultimately anything else I think) can be used as an escape from being present, or it can be used as a way to become more present, to listen, understand and respond more fully to the world around you.

I began writing this because I was thinking about the cost of not being physically present in Cali anymore. I was mourning the experiences I would miss: weekend visits with Avi and Alicia La Mirada, getting to grow with and get to know Joanna, as well as the entire FIT group. Continuing new relationships with great people from the OC Music Awards and the bands, figuring out how to be human with old friends like Christina. And of course, my mom and dad. Not getting to be with my mom and dad, experiencing life with them. That is a big one.

So I was mourning what I would miss – and honestly I still am a little. But I know what I said earlier is true – that being present is more than just physicality. I want to be present to those I care about, and in a way this is a resolution to do so. But it’s also a resolution do be present in life, wherever I am. The past year or so has been so much fuller, as I was trying to be more present. I didn’t know life could be so…fun. And crazy. And interesting. And scary. I kind of like it. And a lot of that was thanks to you guys, for letting me be present with you, and being present with me. And so, now this isn’t so much a resolution I guess as a thank you. For you-know-who-you-ares, and also for present people who just happen to be present with other people, not me.

Cult of Mediocrity

"The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal in every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger, or quicker than anybody else.... Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn't think about anything except in short bursts. And, George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people, like George, from taking unfair advantage of their brains." - Kurt Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron"

My brother had me listen to that short story once, I think. I don't know. I just read it again on this site (listed below), where, right before sharing the story, they wrote this:

Consider Marianne Williamson: "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? ...There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.... And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

I believe this to be true, but the Cult prefers to feel comfort in the chains of their fears, and would have me keep my place in the galley. Many of us never get past the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling, take the risk to step on stage and reap the reward of warm applause-- or even survive the harsh contempt of booing. To aspire to live fully seems to goad people to play devil's advocate, to parry with the reminder that we are all doomed to die, so why bother? In fact, this truth should itself goad us into redoubling our resolve, but all too often it does not.

o0o0o0o0o, desire to break out of the ordinary. I feel you. And I feel ya. Man, woman (I assume this desire, if personified, would be female, primarily for comedic effect).



Website - http://people.tribe.net/metric/blog/5c1ee941-bd4e-43ae-a884-78621804b75e

Putting together the pieces

Before I begin, let me just say that the word piece and all of its derivatives is without a doubt the ugliest word ever. Luckily, its homophone, peace, is, among other things, pretty.

I finished this book, Barefoot in Baghdad. A Palestinian-American late 20-something woman leaves her work at the World Bank to begin and direct a Women for Women International Branch in Iraq, right as the war begins. She shares her experience working to provide safe places for vulnerable girls and women, to provide training and community for many more. She shares how she herself became a vulnerable woman as the fighting escalated, and more humanitarian workers died or fled. Amidst death threats and bombs, she and some of her Iraqi team go to Jordan. It ends with her wedding day, a week after her planned wedding day, when the flowers were instead used for a mourning service, after her fiancee's brother was kidnapped and killed.

There is an afterward. About life going on, about continuing the work. About love and loyalty for a country that is not her own. It's powerful.

I trained to work in development, like she does. I'm drawn towards issues of war and peace and the people caught in between. But, as I read about how she tried to keep together the pieces of her life in the middle of war, I know I'm not ready. Though I doubt anyone ever is. But I'm putting together some pieces of my life, too, though just a few. You have to build, you have to put pieces together, make a safe haven and refuge in the world. It's human instinct to build, just look at all the huge edifices from ancient times, let alone modern cities. But the best refuges aren't always physical. You have to build, to protect from the ugly feelings and the despair. You have to raise up.

As far as putting pieces together for my life, I was looking at the Sderot: rock in red zone documentary website (http://sderotmovie.com/). I realized how influential it has been for me in my understanding of music's role in development, and my life. It documents the power of music in a war zone, particularly for young people through the Sderock bomb shelter/music studio. Avi Vaknin, the director, explains "The original idea was to suck the poison out of them." Here's what the documentary director had to say (bold added):

I thought I might find anger and hate. What I discovered was people who are just trying to make the best out of a really terrible situation. I found incredible resilience, hope, and people who will do almost anything to support each other. The concept of using music to bring normalcy to children's lives -- its an amazing idea that really works. (http://sderotmovie.com/director.php)

It sounds simple, really. But isn't the simplest solution usually the best? Whether I get to go to Philly or I stay here a while longer, either way I know I will be beginning to explore and implement this idea, in different ways. Here's another quotation that got me thinking, again by the director:

All around, you just feel war. People stay in their houses, schools are closed. “Learning Together,” a wartime television program broadcasts daily high school classes for kids who can’t go to school. The classes are taught by famous Israeli writers, poets, and philosophers. (http://sderotmovie.com/blog/, 1/6/09)

It's so simple, again, but it really hit me. How smart! When I was working at the Children's Hospital, I got into the habit of watching Sesame Street in the morning while I got ready. They danced, and I like dancing, what can I say. I just wonder why educational shows aren't deemed necessary for anyone under the age of 5 (The Magic School Bus and Bill Nye excluded). One of my professors had this funny cartoon on his door, of a native tribe quickly hiding their television when the anthropologists show up, so as to appear more "indigenous." TVs are so common, and so communal. There is nothing that replaces teacher-student education, but there is so much more that could be done to make this a really valuable piece of technology...

Anyways. So. Pieces. Being put together in my head. And now on the internet, so that I don't forget. And so that people maybe point out stuff that I didn't notice :)

Satisfied Minds and Franciscan Stigmata Starter Kits

How many times have you heard someone say
If I had his money, I’d do things my way
But the little they know that
It’s so hard to find
One rich man in a hundred
With a satisfied mind

Interesting how some music sticks with you. I heard this song, Satisfied Mind, for the first time in Jr. High by a small folk group. It’s their version that’s still my favorite. Then and now, I listen to it and it makes me think.

For a college kid trying to move to Philly to do an unpaid internship, money doesn’t always seem like that bad of a thing to have. I don’t want to get stuck by it, but I don’t want to get stuck without it, either.

I wonder if this is as easy as it’s going to get, as far as life stages go with friendliness to “living simply” and being Franciscan…y. As far as my age group goes, we don’t have as much capital, and we don’t have as many responsibilities. No house to own. No kids – and their educations – to think about. Life is still adventure-mode, so we’re free to live simply.

Of course, there’s our own college loans. There’s that ever-nagging question of just what you’re going to be when you grow up. And there’s the desire to be cool and grown-up and responsible, but also hip and, just maybe, hipster, even when it means buying thrift store-looking clothes at non-thrift store prices.

Monkrock.com has this “Franciscan Stigmata Starter Kid,” complete with a trendy t-shirt, a crucifix necklace, a pamphlet and those little pin buttons. It’s good advertising: “Get into the Habit.” It looks cool. But that wasn’t St. Francis’ habit, and those weren’t his stigmatas – nor Christ’s. St. Francis was a styling young man of the town who spent all his money on friends and parties before his conversion. When he changed, his habit changed to that dull, brown robe. Of course, not everybody is St. Francis. The tagline of the site is true – “you don’t have to be a monk to live like one.” But, a change of clothes isn’t going to get me into the habits I want to have.

I don’t know exactly how to get into those habits. Or how not to be the person who says “if I had their money,” or how to do things my own way, or God’s way, or how to even know which is what and how’s the difference. But I’m hoping this isn’t as easy as it gets. After all, we’re still learning the ropes of living simply, whether for a brown habit or a hemp bracelet. And maybe we get to have a satisfied mind just in the trying. At least, sometimes. That’d be nice.

two questions

What are you willing to die for?

It's strange. That question used to flit around in my head a good bit, especially when I was in Uganda. It hasn't for a while. Maybe I've been too busy. But it was back last night, whispering and rattling and generally just making too much a ruckus. I saw a movie last night called Little Town of Bethlehem. It was about three men, an Israeli Arab, an Israeli Jew, and a Palestinian Muslim, and their different paths to nonviolence.

A lot of people are willing to risk their life, to die, in war, if they have the shot to also get someone else. They die in defense of their country. I think that can be brave.

There's not so many people willing to die to defend not just their own, but someone else's...what do they call it? their humanity. As if our humanity is some purely good thing. But they're willing to die to defend that goodness, that purity, both in themselves AND in those who are attacking them. To show to themselves and those with the guns that they can both move beyond the violence. That's brave. More than that, that's love.

I was thinking about the question, what am I willing to die for. Or maybe it should be who? For myself, my interests, or for others' too. But it began to seem a strange question for me to ask. As a Christian...we were dead, but now we're alive. And that's not gonna change when our bodies pass away. At least, isn't that what we're supposed to believe? And if we do...then the question has to be changed. No longer what am I willing to die for, but what - and who - am I willing to truly live for?

But when I ask myself that question, it's like a pebble into a pond: silence, but all these tiny ripples.

Because all of a sudden there's more than two questions - I'm playing twenty questions trying to figure out who ME is. Would I stand in front of a bullet? Or would I edge away, or pull out my own gun? I recall when I went to Rwanda, and I was talking with my politics professor about how during the genocide all but one of the Americans was whisked away on a bus like the one we were in, and he asked if I thought I would be the one who stayed. And I said I didn't know. And he laughed. And so I ask, would I stay or would I go? Am I brave? Do I really love, love like that? Would I let Jesus love people through me, like that? Or would I be afraid?

What and who do I live for? I think there's silence when I ask that cuz I don't want to hear my answer, I know what it is and I don't like it. But I want it to change and I think it can. Because I don't want to live for myself.