UNENDING GROWTH

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
–Norman Cousins

“My reputation grows with every failure.”
–George Bernard Shaw

Halloween comes once more this Saturday, the 31st day of October. Previous memories of this holiday are rare for me; I recall the “church alternative” as a child, a celebration of the fall season in lieu of neighborhood door trips. In fact, I find it surprising to discover kids today are actually dressing up in costume for the church gathering. I don’t know if it’s simply a safety issue, but businesses, malls and restaurants are all joining the procession too, hosting parties for children complete with games, face painting, and the obvious treat-candy. Lots of it. The most vivid images I can recall regarding Halloween in childhood are three cartoons: “The Skeleton Dance” (1929), “Lonesome Ghosts” (1937), and “Trick or Treat” (1952). In “Treat,” Donald Duck decides to play tricks on his nephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie; in turn, the boys enlist the help of the witch Hazel to acquire the candy he withholds. In “Ghosts,” Mickey, Donald, and Goofy portray exterminators hired to remove ghouls from a haunted mansion. In the black and white piece “Dance,” skeletons emerge from coffins to frolic throughout the night, scaring an owl and two cats in the process. But like the demon Chernabog in Fantasia (1940), Hazel and the skeletons retreat before the sun rises. Transcending the cartoon, though, is a powerful truth: one who steps into this retreat in life takes the pathway to spiritual decay. The grave waits, and the marker is ready for the inscription.

I recently composed a meditation on the idea of a stepping stone. In the Scriptures, people piled stacks of rocks to denote places of remembrance. This stack did not reflect regret though; the piles indicated the presence and intervention of God in difficult moments or difficult places. This collection of stones is denoted by the word “altar,” a place of worship consistently revealed in the lives of the Israelites. To be purified from sin, families killed animals and sacrificed them through fire. Notice the picture here. Sin indicates distance from God. With the sacrifice made, the gap closes and the relationship is restored once more. For numerous people today, however, the stone stack is not evident. A tombstone is being chiseled in its place. A search on the web for this word yields unique results. I can immediately remember the 1993 film with Kurt Russell portraying Wyatt Earp and Val Kilmer slipping into the role of Doc Holliday. Incidentally, a trip to Arizona today can take one to this famous, historical city. For others, I suppose most might think of the pizza brand. Oddly enough, I remember the clever advertisements Kraft Foods introduced to spark interest for this product. Unsurprisingly, the clips focused on death. The tagline became popular though: “What do you want on your Tombstone?” Humor aside, this question forces one to seriously ponder life and the inevitable end.

Poet Dylan Thomas invites all to “rage against the dying of the light.” But everyone knows the light will flicker and finally extinguish for good. To speak personally, my other grandfather died this year. I know the experience of death; I can see its full grip up close when I hunch over the casket and fixate my open eyes on closed eyes. The eternal sleep is present. I thought a student in the class I serve in would die two weeks ago. He is currently still in the hospital, fighting for one day at a time. Progress is incremental, but he is raging against the light. In addition to this, I might conclude God has more to accomplish in this boy’s life. Some people may find this next thought intriguing; I, however, find it to be silly. A site on the web (deathclock.com) invites users to input data (body mass index, gender, birth figures, smoking status) to determine when expiration will occur. The site says I will exit this life on December 25th, 2080. Wow-this means I’m good for 71 more years and a ripe age of 98. But there is the likelihood a car crash can take me to God this weekend too. Life is fragile, brief, short. During a run this afternoon I listened to “It’s My Life” by Bon Jovi. The tune is the “Carpe Diem” invite into life, to seize the day. A line in the chorus of the song puts it like this: “I just want to live while I’m alive.” To stay with Bon Jovi’s music (and the 1986 year) for a moment, other people hold tightly to life with the song “Livin’ on a Prayer.” The song is framed in terms of relationship, but who doesn’t close their eyes each night today quietly murmuring these words?

I consistently discover moments in my life when I ponder my existence and the accomplishments I’m making; I ponder the people I cross paths with; I ponder stuff and its significance; I ponder the ways to contribute more. I even dare to believe all people step into this place, stop at this proverbial crossroads. The significant, potent questions fill the mind. Purpose takes center stage, and I’m sure reflection on this subject is more evident with age. Moments ago, I looked down to notice the color of the turtleneck I have on: black. The look is reminiscent of Apple’s CEO Steve Jobs, but I remembered the quintessential man known for this color-Johnny Cash. In the trailer for Walk the Line (2005), I remember a scene in which Cash is walking down a hall in the dark suit. Someone poses this unique comment to him: “What’s with the black? Looks like you’re going to a funeral.” Cash replies like this: “Maybe I am.” Nearly succumbing to early death through drug and alcohol use, Cash finds spiritual rebirth through restoration in Jesus and subsequently conquers his addictions. Strengthened once more, he made music until death consumed his mortal frame. Like Cash, I walk a “line,” the convergence of this world and the next. I am alive, and yet I die slightly more each day. Flesh, bones, and tissue will return to the ground once more. My mom has never liked the song “Dust in the Wind,” but are the words of Kansas true nonetheless? In the Scriptures, King Solomon deems much of the activities in life meaningless.

To stay with Kansas a moment more, consider this opening line: “Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no more.” Numerous interpretations can be drawn from this line, but I’m quickly thinking of the prodigal son Jesus references in his teaching. In the story, a young man asks his father for his full inheritance; dollars in hand, he journeys to a neighboring country and engages in “wild living.” This phrase is open to interpretation too, but I picture the young man partying through the night, womanizing, and gambling his winnings completely away. And when the music stops, he has no chair. His friends are noticeably absent. “Coming to his senses,” he discovers the life he decided to forsake seems quite good. Trudging home, his father spots him, kisses him, and starts a party for his return. Fully dead in spirit, the young man is alive anew. The ancient Greek word for wild is agrios and means “not reclaimed.” Once reckless and far from home, this boy is claimed by the father. A path to the grave is evident when I study the story of this boy’s life, but “coming to his senses” is the climax of the tale, the pivotal turning point. In the words of Blaise Pascal, “Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what he loves.” The young man’s fresh state of mind opens him up to remembering the goodness of his previous life. Armed with this knowledge and fresh vision, he is freed up to rekindle a relationship, a broken love with his father.

I don’t think about death too much. I know it’s a subject worth exploring in later years, but maybe its good to stop and consider it from time to time. Halloween may provide a good day to do it, a day death is lifted up in visibility. Skeletons, ghouls, ghosts and goblins dance in the night and scare people. Fear is a powerful emotion, and this is exactly why haunted houses (like Netherworld in Atlanta) take in good revenues on the 31st. I find the colors to be at odds on this day too. Orange and black are the primary colors for Halloween, but consider the symbolism. Black represents mourning, death, sorrow, or gloom. A friend recently me told me orange is the global color for hope. This seems odd, to pair up hope with death or gloom, but its in the lowest points in life hope rises in a powerful surge. One prayer in the Scriptures opens with this line: “Out of the depths I cry to you” (God). This is the cry for redemption. Shinedown, the band known for the widely popular song “Second Chance,” is gaining visibility with another too. On a drive home two nights ago, I listened closely to the tune “Sound of Madness.” Ear fixated on the chorus, I find these words: “I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain.” But it is the next line that notes the turning point: “Somehow I’m still here to explain.” The word “somehow” is potent here. Is it good fortune or more? Is it luck or providence? For me, it is living a renewed life on a daily basis. Renewal is restoration, a life above spiritual dirt and the corresponding flowers.

“Behold the turtle. He only makes progress when he sticks his neck out.”
–James B. Conant

“Nothing is more fatal to happiness than the remembrance of happiness.”
–Andre Gide

I recently discovered clarity for the title of a book now nearing completion. Ancient Israel king David inscribed my find in the Scriptures, and I stopped to ponder this statement he shared only days ago: “You [God] broaden the path beneath me, so that my ankles do not turn.” The selected title, Broaden the Path, is fitting for numerous reasons: first, this phrase conjures up mental images of inclusion; second, path sparks my runner intrigue. Incidentally, finding closure on the title is ushering in the decision of image selection. I think dirty running shoes might be the perfect visual companion to the title, but stones are a second thought pulsing through my mind. Hikes I take in the mountains recall a visualization of stones; with streams to cross, protruding rocks provide stability for the shoes, dry grip for the upcoming step. Oddly enough, the very rocks which provide support for crossing over to dry ground are capable of shifting on the watery environment below. Be it small pebbles or even slimy moss sliding through the surface cracks, a slip and fall can easily occur. The motivated hiker, in spite of the pain (and wounded confidence) a tumble exacts, will press forward to the destination. Barring no serious injuries, why is this the case? Hikers and bikers know risks exist in the forest, but keep going. The objective is set before the run or ride, and the spirit of focus guides the spirit.

One’s state of mind directs the steps. But it strikes me the way people are guided by unique perspective, outlook, or vision. For example, I remember conversing with a friend recently about the Frost poem “The Road Not Taken.” A favorite of mine, the final line is a textual herald of marked determination, breakthrough, and triumph: “I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” Or is it? Highly surprising, my friend informed me this classic is actually a brief dirge on regret, the melancholy of selecting one path over the other. This is underscored in the poem by the presence of both roads being “worn about the same.” Furthermore, in the final stanza, the narrator is “telling this with a sigh.” In the decisions I have made in life, the sigh is undoubtedly the marker of indifference or hesitation, reluctance or blithe concession. For instance, I know millions of people step into work each new day with a sigh. In fact, work is a place, a road, in need of fresh contemplation. I’m currently reading Barbara Ehrenreich’s book Nickel and Dimed, a blunt, humorous, stirring insight on the working poor of the United States. Thus far, I have powerfully internalized her experience serving food as a waitress in Florida. The outsider looking in, sadness grips my spirit. Stress, cheap and unhealthy meals, theft, racism, drugs and the apparent presence of discrimination are realities she documents. I wonder if people truly desire to exit this road, forge a new one? Or does complacency confine and cripple the will to initiate breakthrough?

In my experience, contentment can silently mask complacency; equilibrium, a comfort, can quietly rise in work, in relationships, or in spiritual discipline. Furthermore, a routine can strip out the passion. I consider my life to be one of discipline, but this process is in need of periodic attention. In the words of David Campbell, “Discipline is remembering what you want.” I can highlight the failure and complete lapse in the discipline of diet yesterday. Since running now frames the way I eat too, I strive to be mindful of the foods and ingredients that enter my body. Labels are scrutinized and decisions are settled through this process. One unique challenge I have discovered, however, is being served food from others. A measure of control still exists, but its funny how caution can quickly be ignored. Yesterday I consumed two bowls of cereal for breakfast, a large sandwich and chips for lunch, six pieces of pizza for dinner, two bowls of banana pudding, and one bowl of ice cream. Suffice it to say a larger number of fat grams entered my frame. For me, this is a significant deviation. I succumbed to the wonderful joy of highly unhealthy pizza. I’m thankful to say this momentary failure will be consumed by runs and the corresponding calorie burns this week, but is it not amazing to consider the ways the highly disciplined also falter? I, like the narrator of Frost’s poem, walked down a unique road, and it did make a (pound) of difference. Any afterthought of regret is consumed in the run though.

When I look back on this moment and others like it in life, I note the mental marker, the flag or place of remembrance. For me, I believe I will deem this one gluttony. For others, the possibilities are equally diverse. All people are wounded, and can recall the places, the moments in time significant events unfolded. Be it a DUI citation or divorce, one more injection of heroin or even murder, the mind remembers. In the Scriptures, the idea of remembrance is evidenced by a pile of stone rocks. Men constructed altars to God, but it was not for the purpose of recollecting failures, but lifting up a place of deliverance. Consider the words of Jacob: “I will build an altar to God, who answered me in the day of my distress and who has been with me wherever I have gone.” I find it difficult to consider a God who draws close to the wounded in the low places life reveals. But it is, oddly enough, in these places a new strength surfaces in the spirit. I have noted this remark before, but I believe the words of Oscar Wilde are fitting once more: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” I like the way Wilde levels the playing field with this remark. St. Paul affirms this perspective too: “There is no one righteous, not even one.” I can breathe easier knowing this truth, the truth all people are capable of nobility or capable of ugliness.

Unfortunately, it is the ugliness one notices in the world today. And to reference the Scriptures once more, I see another purpose large stones are used for: death. God commissioned Israelites to pound people with rocks. Although I can only speculate whether this practice continues today for Jews, research on the web reveals it does continue in Islam. Surprising to me, I discovered a film was released on this practice in June. The Stoning of Soraya M. (2009) outlines the true story of a woman who dies by the hands of mob for adultery, a charge which happens to be false. A recent article on CNN reveals that the government of Indonesia, the country with largest number of Muslims in the world, will not implement a law to permit the stoning of adulterers. Knowing infidelity undoubtedly facilitates divorce in the United States, consider the number of deaths that would take place on a daily basis if this punishment was utilized. While the perpetrators in this country will live with the mark of adultery painted on the heart, to know forgiveness with oneself is possible through spiritual restoration is joyous and worthy of hopeful tears. In the Scriptures, a woman is dropped before Jesus, adultery her crime. Waiting to be stoned, Jesus writes in the ground and states, “He who is without sin, throw the first stone.”

Not surprising, people throw the stones nonetheless. The ability to reveal mercy is consistently overshadowed by the thirst for justice, reciprocity or penance. In A Knight’s Tale (2001), William, after taking on the role of knight, refuses to joust with another knight who is wounded. Surprised by the display, the wicked Adhemar wonders why William didn’t finish the job. Jocelyn, the lady William is pursuing, recognizes the mercy he reveals. Adhemar equates mercy with weakness. But this virtue of the heart is quite the contrary; it is the mark of the powerful. In the words of Shakespeare, “Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.” The desire to continue with evil is a powerful force when the expected punishment is not doled out, but the bold who withhold it believe a transformation of the heart is possible. One only needs to consider the life of Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s glorious tale Les Miserables. I found this possibility in the verse of a song in my run today too. In “Love Rescue Me,” Bono puts it best: “I’ve conquered my past, the future is here at last, I stand at the entrance to a new world I can see. The ruins to the right of me, will soon have lost sight of me, love, rescue me.” The stone stacks I erect in my life are the moments of deliverance I have shared with the living God and the corresponding healing and liberation. They are stepping stones to day’s ahead, a far cry from the other place moments of ugliness can take one into spiritually…a tombstone.

Notes:

Ahmed, Saeed. “Indonesia Expected to Ditch Stoning Law.” 10.13.09. 10.18.09
http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/10/13/indonesia.stoning

“Only when you are lost can love find itself in you without losing its way.”
–Helene Cixous

“Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.”
–Henry David Thoreau

Home Improvement may be one of the funniest television shows now in syndication. Tim Taylor, masterfully portrayed by Tim Allen, always manages to find injury in the house or on his fictional show “Tool Time.” In spite of this, he grows as a husband, a father, a man of wisdom. This is undoubtedly the result of sharing fence time with his next door neighbor Wilson. Wilson always has an insightful comment for Tim, a call to action Tim can purposefully apply in the show’s context (even if he jumbles up the words). One episode I vividly remember is a trip Tim and his wife Jill take to a relative’s wedding. Convinced he knows the way, Tim ends up in Ohio at a convenience store, not once, but twice. Wilson later explains to Tim men navigate by instinct. And it’s this instinct, joined with pride, that can create a true sense of loss, be it geographically, financially, mentally or spiritually. I wrote on the idea of being lost in the moment recently, entering into the moment, embracing an engaged and connected life. But its worth pondering the moments when very distinct detours occur in life, the divergences off the marked trail. Through circumstances, broken relationships, financial hardship or even indifference, the struggle to hold on to hope is evident every day for millions of people. The light, raging once in illumination, flickers, jostled by the winds of angst and uncertainty.

Only days ago a downpour of rain over the state of Georgia subsided. In fact, the school system I worked for closed for two days. Coverage on television, the radio and the web surged: meteorologists outlined departing systems, framing the grids for fresh ones; anchors shared new stories; field reporters conversed with residents and city and state officials. The rain created significant flooding, mudslides, road closures and power outages. FEMA recently stepped in to assist in the process. I remember a video clip of residents traveling in a boat to pick up other neighbors, a reminder of Hurricane Katrina, the devastating disaster that took place only four years ago. I don’t think I fully feel the impact of grief others receive until proximity plays a role. In the case of this rain, it is my neighbors, counties away, who are starting the rebuilding process. In the interviews they give, I see the melancholy spirit evident in the face; words are broken up with tears. Compounding the difficulty, the insult to injury idea, is the fact that the economy is still shaky, unsettled. In the Scriptures I find this thought by Matthew: “He [God] causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” When I meditate on this statement and consider the people miles away who have a house or business ruined with the presence of water, I step back for contemplation. I give thanks my home is still in tact, but a potent question rises in my spirit: “Why not me?”

In Saving Private Ryan (1998), Captain John Miller (Tom Hanks) directs a small cohort of men to find a solider lost in the field. This solider, who lost three brother in the war, is ordered to go home by General George Marshall. After finding James Ryan, Miller tells him to grab his gear and get ready for departure. Ryan, protecting a bridge with fellow soldiers, refuses. In fact, he wonders why the men sent to find him aren’t in his shoes. He states, “Why do I deserve to go? Why not any of these guys? They all fought just as hard as me.” Asking if his mother can handle the presence of one more folded flag, James makes his bold stand: “Tell her that when you found me I was here, with the only brothers I have left. And that there’s no way I was gonna desert them. I think she’ll understand that.” When I watch others experience moments of loss, I wonder why it’s not me from time to time. I am no better. For instance, take traffic. My theory concerning traffic is this: being involved in an accident is not a question of if, but when and how severe. Crashes occur on a daily basis, and when I drive by one, I’m reminded of this truth: I might be next. Notice how this is one of the ways the mind can detour though. Thoughts of worry and disaster shackle the consciousness; fear grips the spirit, and the possibility of accident and injury keep surfacing. Thoughts of failure inhibit or prohibit one from stepping into new experiences.

This detour of the mind stirs up a visual image of drowning. One sinks, unable to grab the surface. This visual reminds me of the melancholy song “Drift and Die” by Puddle of Mudd. I sense a small sense of hope in this tune, but the idea moving through the melody is one of sorrow, perhaps a lament on a wasted existence. Like a piece of decayed wood floating on top of a dirtied stream, the mind loses focus in a torrent of angst and worry. For numerous people, this mental drown gives way to depression, the release of optimism. I wondered once if spiritual people enter into depression. This thought might seem silly, but I figured the godly lived with perpetual joy, happiness. In the Scriptures, one can find this word: “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” Wiser now, I know all people, theists and atheists, can experience depression. Debate surrounds diagnosis and treatment, but this presence is widespread today. Unemployment, financial hardship, marital strain, children, and meditation on the future contribute to sleeplessness and concern; however, I will affirm a truth I have gained from personal experience: depression is not synonymous with hopelessness. In fact, hope is the only fuel to drive one out of prolonged mental agony. I have noted the words of Jean Kerr before, but I will put this adage out once more. Consider the sheer power of this thought: “Hope is the feeling that the feeling you have isn’t permanent.”

I recently noticed an article by Laurie Pawlik-Kienlen on the subject of becoming lost, the displaced identity. Through disregard of feelings or dreams, or the inability to assert confidence or take risk in life, social norms and cultural expectations “railroad” the possibility development can occur in one’s life. The reluctance to embrace a unique sense of self undoubtedly stifles growth. In fact, I remember the days I walked through the halls of high school; subconsciously, I studied the ways my peers dressed, their mannerisms, speech and disposition. Imitation is indeed a form of flattery, but why imitate when it’s more personally liberating to forge a distinct persona? In the song “New Way to be Human” by Switchfoot, I recall this verse: “It’s a race to be noticed, and it’s leaving us numb.” Numb-devoid of emotion, feeling. When this feeling pulses through the mind, this is the time a jarring sense of reality needs to return; be it a breakthrough in work or relationship, a run in the local park or jumping out of an airplane, a fresh rush of blood quickens both the body and the mind to straighten up and readjust to circumstances, readjust to life. The personal problems will likely still exist, but making intentional time to free the mind up creates wonders for a recharged, restored spirit. And in engaging in this process, the lost feeling subsides and clarity emerges. The worn path comes into view once more.

In the words of poet Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” This is the amazing invite to keep pressing forward, to resist with full intensity the drudgery life powerfully exacts over the mind. One of the amazing tunes on Coldplay’s new album Viva la Vida is “Lost.” Contemplate these two lines: “Just because I’m losing, doesn’t mean I’m lost. Just because I’m hurting, doesn’t mean I’m hurt.” Take note of the fact that “losing” and “hurting” denote action, circumstances taking place in the moment. “Lost” and “hurt” indicate a wounded state of mind. To illustrate, I will be running a marathon in Huntsville this December. Since I am not even a contender for placing in this race, it is easy to say I will be losing the entire race; hundreds of other runners will complete the (long) course before me. In terms of pure competition, I’m losing. But in another sense, I will watch the road for markings and purposefully pursue the finish line. I will lose the race, but I am not lost. I know where I started and where I intend to go. And I will always remember that I’m not running this course solo; residents will step out of their homes to cheer me; intersections will be filled with volunteers holding water and Gatorade; children will stick out their hands for a high five. Lastly, people will gather and cheer at the finish line. The thundering noise will propel me forward. The legs will quicken over the pavement. The monotony of previous steps will gain meaning. Lethargy will die quickly, and I will burst into flames. The circumstances, the problems of life I carry will be displaced in the upcoming moments, and I will lose myself in a new presence: smiles and tears, a drop to the knee, a finger in the air pointing to the sky. The wick of the flickering light is extended. The flame is rekindled.

References:

Kienlen-Pawlik, Laurie. “How to Lose Yourself in 10 Ways.” 11.22.07. 9.30.09
http://developmental-psychology.suite101.com/article.cfm/how_to_lose_yourself_in_10_ways

“How much of human life is lost in waiting.”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson

“People who make no mistakes lack boldness and the spirit of adventure. They are the brakes on the wheels of progress.”
–Dale E. Turner

When I first started running three years ago, I visited a store in downtown Atlanta to pick up new shoes. After finding the right pair, I looked over the sole and noticed a plus sign next to the iconic Nike Swoosh. Intrigued, I asked for an explanation to its meaning. Listening intently, I discovered Nike + is a software program designed to connect specific shoes to an iPod or iPhone for the purpose of empowering runners. A sensor is placed in the shoe and data is transmitted to a chip in the iPod to monitor time, distance, calories and more. In short, this kit is my best friend on the road; in addition to monitoring running data, users can also scroll through the music library to select a “PowerSong,” a specific tune one feels strong connection with. A tune for motivation, strength to press forward. I periodically change mine, but pondered the top music. The stored workout data in the iPod can be uploaded to a personalized site for runners, a community for looking through results, initiating challenges and purchasing new gear. I visited the community moments ago to study the Top 10 PowerSongs. In the 1.0 mix, notables include “Beautiful Day” by U2, “Song 2″ by Blur, and the Rocky creed “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor. But it is “Lose Yourself” by Eminem holding the number one position.

Always blunt and transparent in his lyrics, Eminem is bold enough to live the emotions out in the words. I can affirm this by studying this song and seeing a man vividly highlight his failures in life. The tune is his struggle to break through, press forward. And through his gift of rhyming, the invite is to seize the moment, latch on. Consider the chorus: “You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go.” Lose yourself. What thoughts does this phrase conjure? When it comes to running, I believe this place comes into existence in the “runner’s high,” a place of euphoria the mind enters into during specific moments the body’s physical ability is pushed to the edge. This theory is criticized from time to time, but in the November 2008 issue of Cerebral Cortex, German researchers investigated this possibility by examining endorphin release through PET scans in runners before and after a run. Their conclusion? The brain produced endorphins that attached to the prefrontal and limbic regions, an indicator of the “high” athletes periodically experience. Between the feet on the concrete or asphalt, the inhale/exhale of the lungs and the music moving through the ears, a natural equilibrium moves through the body. In fact, I might deem it a peace, a calmness ironically surfacing in the process of physical motion. Paired with this high is an experience I call the “three part cleanse,” a physical, emotional and spiritual catharsis, liberation; physical, through the release of sweat; emotional, through the release of cluttered mental thoughts; spiritual, through the release of emotional pain or stress.

In context, an effective synonym for “lose” is “immersion,” becoming consumed. This is a process that takes place on a daily basis in numerous ways. For instance, consider books. Good stories invite readers to enter into the action, and in doing so a visualization surfaces in the mind; a mental picture is constructed. Rarely reading fiction, this idea is difficult for me to grasp, but I know effective stories transport the reader into the scene, the unfolding action. Incidentally, I discussed this idea with a friend hours ago. A child can lose him or herself in a riveting book, and this is why a ten year old will finish a seven hundred page Harry Potter book in a week and stand for hours waiting for the midnight arrival of the next one. I wonder if books for adults can create this type of internal stir, motivation. Are people going to line up this Tuesday at midnight to pick up Dan Brown’s new book The Lost Symbol? The sequel to The Da Vinci Code, will this tome sell through multiple print runs? Likely. In the words of Telegraph columnist Andrew Hough, “Experts say the latest book [Symbol], to be published in Britain by Random House, is the most sought after novel since the last Harry Potter book.” The first print run is 6.5 million copies, so expectations are undoubtedly high. People are ready to step into the next moments of Robert Langdon.

I searched the Scriptures moments ago for the word “immersion,” but discovered no results. Incidentally, to be immersed is coupled with water when it comes to use in a church, baptism the ritual of representation. The decision to take part in this process is part of the larger decision to “buy into” the invite of Jesus, to receive his “yoke” [teaching] fully. The appropriate image of this word is a pair of oxen, burdened by a wood beam stretched across the necks. And like this crushing responsibility the animals bear, Jesus likens the spiritual ideology [yoke] of the Pharisees to the tired beasts, e.g. the people who strive to live out the law of Moses with perfection. Knowing this quest to be futile, Jesus invites all to release this yoke and consider a new one. This new yoke is not framed in terms of laws, but principles worth pursuing. The invite is to surrender, to kneel. The invite is to pursue excellence, all the while knowing failure will inevitably occur from time to time. But in this failure, shame occupies no place. Forgiveness thrives. Healing and restoration thrive. And with healing comes the invite to embrace the yoke once more. This yoke is the kingdom of God, and if this kingdom is fully received, immersion rushes through the spirit. In O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), the boys stand on the shore watching people dressed in white linens step in to the lake to be consumed. Delmar, intrigued, rushes to be redeemed by the preacher too. He puts it best: “Come on in boys. The water is fine.”

I would surmise one of the difficult elements to becoming lost in the moment is the perception of what others think. In fact, I’m always inspired by the people who live out their existence with confidence, a boldness. The public criticism is simply ignored. They have a unique rhythm. In the words of Thoreau, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.” To speak personally, I wrestle with the thoughts of others; maybe it is a desire to be liked or approved. But the freedom that comes in letting go of one’s inhibitions does occupy a place in life. The one example I can foresee right now is dancing with my wife on wedding day. And knowing this day will come, now is the time to start gaining confidence, for hundreds of eyes will be on me. In spite of this, however, it is my hope the thoughts of others will be utterly dismissed. I value the insight of friends and family, but on this day my gaze will focus on my bride alone; daring to be wild is the place I will dwell in. Is Steppenwolf right? Are we “born to be wild?” Is there a balance one walks in life, the balance between wild and tame, domesticated and slightly crazed?

Tomorrow, X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) arrives on DVD. A fan of the X-Men, it’s intriguing to trace the way Logan changes in the films. A bar fighter in the first film, Wolverine grows to become a team player, even a fatherly influence to his friend Rogue. In spite of this, he still struggles to wrestle down the internal rage within him, the animal inside. Last evening I watched 300 (2006), the film adaptation of Frank Miller’s graphic novel on Sparta’s war with Persia. As the film opens, the narrator describes the way boys grow up in Sparta, becoming “baptized” in combat through highly intensive training. The result is an unrivaled warrior, never retreating, never surrendering. As I study these warriors, I can even detect a sense of madness, a wildness no normal solider would embrace. For instance, in one scene an emissary from Xerxes, the Persian king, tells a Spartan the coming arrows will “blot out the sun.” This is the reply: “Then we will fight in the shade.” Is this confidence tinged with a touch of madness? Perhaps, but it is no doubt testament to the way the warriors lose themselves in battle, tenaciously press forward in skill to defeat an enemy. Like the Spartans, the invite for a fuller life is to live richly in the moment. I think in doing this the possibility of regret becomes minimized too. The focus is on the future. In the words of St. Paul, “I forget what is behind and strain toward what is ahead.” Fall into the here, the right now.

Notes:

Boecker, Henning, et. al. “The Runner’s High: Opioidergic Mechanisms in the Human Brain.” Cerebral Cortex. 11.08. 9.13.09
http://cercor.oxfordjournals.org.proxy-remote.galib.uga.edu/cgi/content/full/18/11/2523?maxtoshow=&HITS=10&hits=10&RESULTFORMAT=&fulltext=Henning+Boecker&searchid=1&FIRSTINDEX=0&resourcetype=HWCIT

Hough, Andrew. “New Da Vinci Code book ‘to break publishing records’ amid unprecedented security.” Telegraph. 9.12.09. 9.13.09
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/booknews/6177481/New-Da-Vinci-Code-book-to-break-publishing-records-amid-unprecedented-security.html

“We cannot learn without pain.”
–Aristotle

“Human freedom involves our capacity to pause, to choose the one response toward which we wish to throw our weight.”
–Rollo May

Runs over the previous two weeks have started early. 5:00 in the morning early. Rising from the bed, I stretch the bones and lace up my shoes; a water bottle packed, I step forth into the darkness. I usually take runs in the afternoon, but the sun’s presence is intense these final days of summer. A tolerance for heat is present in my body, but running before the day begins is a new and powerfully unique experience. Stars and the moon are visible, illumination for the course. Street lamps provide further clarity. The downside, unfortunately, is cars. In a run one week ago, a car reminded me I can still fall to the ground. In the morning I like running in the road. The surface is flat and generally free of debris. I consistently take this approach, but shift over to the sidewalk when I notice headlights. This is where difficulty surfaces though. Eyes “adjust” to darkness, but a car’s beam abruptly rattles the pupil. In short, I become temporarily blinded. In this unforgettable run, I noticed a car and inched toward the sidewalk. Misjudging the curb, however, I tripped and slid forward over concrete. I looked down and noticed the blood starting to inch down my left leg, right ankle and right hand. Thankfully, the darkness provides a cloak of invisibility too. I trudged home and bandaged the wounds. This run is a reminder to contemplate surroundings, to slow down or stop if necessary. But the thought I keep returning to is the blood.

Blood, the red substance snaking through the hair on my leg. I’m not sure if this is strange or not, but I have run for three years without a spill to the ground. This spill, however, and the corresponding blood, reminded me I’m alive. Biological processes are taking place in the body, and a wound disrupts this internal synergy. According to The Franklin Institute, blood is the fluid of life, growth and health, transporting oxygen, carbon dioxide, vitamins, minerals and waste through the network of veins in the circulatory system. Without blood, one simply dies. Thankfully, the wound I incurred did not necessitate blood from a donor. But it’s jarring to contemplate the thought life is exiting the body. These cuts will become scars, visual reminders present forever. I previously composed a meditation on the idea of life passing one by, but the presence of blood on the body compels me to stop, reset, live in this moment, take action in this moment. Otherwise, life literally drains out. In the words of Don Marquis, “Blood will tell, but often it tells too much.” I wonder what truth the red substance is communicating.

After my spill, I started considering the subject of pain and remembered the song “Hurt,” written by Trent Reznor and released on the 1994 Nine Inch Nails album The Downward Spiral. The version most remember, however, is the cover by Johnny Cash in his 2002 album American IV: The Man Comes Around. An amazing song, the video is deeply moving. Consider the first lines: “I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real.” Oddly enough, the lyrics of this song surfaced in the moments after a run I concluded today. I set a mileage goal and achieved it, but struggled to stand after entering the house. My legs ached in agony. I tried to simply lay on the floor, but I popped open the container and consumed two ibuprofen’s. Stepping back to ponder life, it is amazing and unfortunate the way numerous people navigate life by the philosophy of pain management. Illnesses and disease are remedied with prescription drugs from Merck, Pfizer, Novartis and Bristol Myers Squibb. The tension and ugliness that surface in marriage are quickly relieved by the presence of divorce, a (fairly) painless way to divide assets and go separate ways. The ensuing psychological pain can be suppressed with Zoloft, Prozac or Cymbalta. Disappointment, failure and self-hatred are remedied with alcohol, food, shopping and more. But daring to embrace the suffering is the way to heal. This may require substantial grief and tears, even trips for therapy, but release and restoration inevitably arrives.

I searched the word “bleed” moments ago on YouTube and received a surprising number of hits: 109,000. Like “Hurt,” I wonder if these songwriters are intrigued with the subject of pain too. Notable tunes include “Bleed” by Evanescence, “Wait and Bleed” by Slipknot, “Bleed it Out” by Linkin Park, and the currently popular song “Bleeding Love” by Leona Lewis. The presence of blood is a reminder life is precious, precious to the point of protecting it. This is why the thought of cutting the body rattles my spirit so deeply. A week ago I watched 28 Days (2000). Gwen Cummings, portrayed by Sandra Bullock, is an alcoholic who enters a rehabilitation clinic to become free. In one scene, I remember Gwen finding her roommate on the floor in the bathroom, a needle beside her, scars on her arms. In Heat (1995), Lieutenant Vincent Hanna (Al Pacino) finds his girlfriend’s daughter in the hotel room tub, arms cut. The idea of running a sharp blade over the arm or wrist is foreign to me like day is to night, but so many people do it daily. For most, it is a coping mechanism. I stumbled across a picture on the web moments ago regarding this subject. A black and white image reveals a person’s arm with this phrase inscribed on the skin: “I want to be free.” The desire for healing, liberation, is shared by all in one way or another. In the words of Helen Keller, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.”

Blood always appears to be paired with pain or suffering. I have a strong dislike for needles, but choose to be a blood donor for the American Red Cross because I know this precious liquid is in short supply. Knowing I will likely never meet a person who needs blood, the donation process feels unusual from time to time. But I know when I look through the Red Cross website and study the stories of survivors, a chance exists one of these people may have a few cells or platelets from me. Numerous people listed in the site have overcome leukemia with powerful focus and a strong spirit. In the words of three year old Malorie, “People who give blood are heroes.” Even the symbol is one of hope, the pairing up of the color red (symbolizing love, desire, energy, passion, joy, strength) and a cross, two intersecting lines. For numerous people, this is the reminder of Jesus, the passion (suffering) for all humanity, all creation. The presence of blood is also revealed in the Seder, the special and holy moment Jesus lifts up the cup and shares a word on remembrance: “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.” This covenant is the new bond forged between God and people; no longer will animal sacrifices be required to atone for sins. The moment Jesus gives up his life for all is the recognition one enters into: forgiveness is possible, healing is possible, reconciliation is possible.

Ponder two of the closing lines in “Hurt” by Cash: “I will let you down. I will make you hurt.” The impression I take away from this statement is an exchange between two people, but I know it also to be true life finds a way to induce pain, sorrow, hurt, blood. Daily bombings in Iraq and Afghanistan are common occurrences now. People find ways to harm one another. Innocent blood is spilled with malice. But it is strengthening to know blood is also poured out for the benefit of others. In Saving Private Ryan (1998), soldiers die second after second on Normandy beach; in We Were Soldiers (2002), a broken platoon is rescued; in Black Hawk Down (2001), “no one gets left behind.” This bond of brotherhood is forged through hellish conflict to the point one is willing to lay down his life for a fellow man. In the affirming words of Jesus, “Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” The presence of blood is a reminder life is a gift, worth fighting for. Is it worth dying for? Martin Luther King Jr. puts it best: “If a man hasn’t discovered something that he will die for, he is not fit to live.” A bold statement, but it presses one to the core, compels one to truly discover the foundation life is built on. In the final scene of Braveheart (1995), Robert the Bruce, now king of Scotland, tells his army, “You have bled with Wallace. Now bleed with me.” Blood precedes scars, and scars denote reminiscence, the recollection of injury, stumbles. But through injury one grows stronger. To revise the words of Descartes, “I bleed, therefore I live.”

Notes:

“Blood.” The Franklin Institute. 2009. 8.29.09
http://www.fi.edu/learn/heart/blood/blood.html

“Hurt.” Wikipedia. 8.23.09. 8.29.09
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurt_(Nine_Inch_Nails_song)

The American National Red Cross. 2009. 8.30.09
http://www.givelife2.org/recipient/default.asp?thisHB=08/30/2009%2004:43:21

“Color Meaning.” Color Wheel Pro. 2008. 8.30.09
http://www.color-wheel-pro.com/color-meaning.html