Overflow

According to Margaret Berry’s new article on ettiquette in The Morning News, I am quite the social clod. Regardless it was a good, if self-effacing, read.

So I am ending my odd lectio over the lyrics of this Rush song (long story. see below.) and I’ve had time to ponder a few of the other stanzas. Two of the stanzas challenge me to reassess who I am in the roles I play and what that implies in my life:

“And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones to start
To mould a new reality
Closer to the Heart”

On first blush, I thought this was talking about rich people and political leaders. But you know, I hold a very high place. I am extraordinarily blessed, especially as compared to humanity as a whole. I would guess that if you are reading this you hold a very high place in the world too. And from those to whom much is given, much will be expected. Yes, I believe that regular folks like me need to “wake up” to the fact that we are the world’s elite and take the responsibility that implies.

“Philosophers and Ploughmen
Each must know his part
To sow a new mentality
Closer to the Heart”

This one was tricky. I am a philosopher *and* a ploughman. I wear multiple hats — father, husband, software engineer, catechist, poet, artist, futurist (who has the luxury of wearing just one hat these days?) And I definitely favor some hats over others. Some are just plain more fun.

As a result, I often shortchange what I judge to be the mundane “ploughman” hats in favor of the fun “philosopher” hats. But I know that I must honor each one as they are all from God and have a part in his plan for me. If I want that mentality that is “Closer to the Heart” then I must love God with all my heart and each and every hat I wear.

And so my assessment of this little episode is that God is calling me to be closer to her through greater spiritual discipline and discipline in general. This is something I had always known in the back of my mind — I need more self-discipline. But experiencing a call, however mundane, is a spark that I need to drag my butt out of bed and meditate, crack that scripture, and get back to basics. I guess I could be imagining this whole “call in the form of a Rush song” thing, but if it leads me into deeper prayer and contemplation, it doesn’t matter to me if it’s real or imagined.

Hmmm… You know, people usually think of the Voice of God as being this big booming bass. Wouldn’t it be funny if it really were a high screechy tenor like Geddy Lee’s?

What a lovely scripture. Reads like poetry.

I am the boundless ocean.

-Ashtavakra Gita 7:1-2

That reminds me of a story from one of Anthony DeMello’s books about a Salt Doll. The Salt Doll wanted to know who he was and so he went about asking people. One day he encountered the ocean and was impressed by its vast beauty. So he asked it if it knew who he was. The ocean said “Come in and see.” Just as the last part of the Salt Doll was about to dissolve, he said, “Now I know who I am!”

(I guess a fresh water lake wouldn’t have been as instructive.)

So I am a Salt Doll. I want to know. But I am afraid of dissolving, of course.

Here he is — Elmer T. Zilch in all his resin and acrylic glory. He’s the patron saint of my old fraternity chapter I was talking about a few days back. For a statue, he’s a truly happenin’ dude. His idea of a good time is going out and getting laquered. Heh.

Thanks to Roger Ludlow, an even older alumnus than I, for the picture.

Lesson Learned: If you wish to preheat the lower oven in our kitchen, check the inside for toysl. Mr. Freshpants apparently likes to, I dunno, put some of his toys in solitary I guess. So tonight for dinner along with meatloaf we almost cooked a wooden train, one of Petunia’s rattles, and a teddy bear. The bear used to be called “Goober” and Mr. Freshpants just called him “Bear”. But now we have a new name for him (I bet you see this coming)….Smokey. Smokey the Bear. Get it?

Other than a little burnt mark and a new “crispy” sheen, Smokey will be fine. Mr. Freshpants was a little traumatized, but he’ll be okay.

And so I meditated (see below). This is what I’m getting so far:

“You can be the Captain
I will draw the Chart
Sailing into destiny
Closer to the Heart”

So, a couple of days before I played the song, I had pulled down this book, one of the ones that mock me from my bookshelf for owning them and never reading them. I was feeling a vague yearning to read something spiritual. Of course the first thing I did was lay it on my bedside table which functions as a kind of a purgatory for books I “intend” to read but never get to. I didn’t pick it up and start reading it until I pondered the stanza above. It was called The Way Of The Heart by Henri Nouwen.

What struck me right off was Nouwen’s call to silence and solitude in God’s presence — something sorely missing in my life. And so I put down the book and just sat there for awhile and felt, well, nothing. I heard nothing. Saw nothing. Pondered nothing. Just sat. And in my sitting I had no epiphanies. But that 30 minutes or so felt right. And I feel led to do more, to cultivate more spiritual discipline in my life. To sit and do nothing.

So I could be the “captain”, but God would “draw the chart”. And then I noticed the book I had already chosen called, “The Way of The Heart” which led me to where I believe God was calling me. Coincidence? You can believe that if you wish. As long as you understand that coincidence, like the Voice of God, is more in the way one perceives than in what one perceives. You may say it was coincidence. I say it was God. Either way, one chooses what to believe. I choose God.

So this song popped into my head about two days ago and would not go away. I tried all the usual tricks — liquor, hypnosis, listening to the Barney theme — to get it out of my head. It kept coming back more insistently. Finally a voice inside my head said “You have the CD, go listen to it.” So I did it this morning. Twice. The song went away, but now I am pondering the words and what they mean in my life right now.

You see, I believe the voice in my head, the one that talks to me, is God. God told me to dig out a Rush song and play it. (Yes, Overflow would now score high on “Is my blog Nuts or Not?” website.)

Okay, so most people call this voice a “hunch” or the “superego” or a “little bird” or “fate” or “chance” or “luck.” I don’t really believe in any of those things very much. It takes as much faith to believe everything happens by pure chance as it does to believe that God is the Prime Mover, so I choose to believe in God. Whatever works for you, right?

I can remember the first time I realized he/she talks to me. I was standing about ankle deep in water from a broken washer connection and I was reaching to unplug my dryer to move it out of the way when I heard something like, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU IDIOT?” from a voice in my head. My ass was totally saved from being fried by my own stupidity just in the nick of time. Now there are about fifteen different explanations that scientists could offer about that voice and how it saved me — I just choose to think of it as God yelling at me. I know it’s a choice to believe this, but it’s my choice. In fact, most of the things that God says to me end up with words something like, “…You Idiot!” I walk around with my head in the clouds most of the time. His voice, or his grace in the form of his servant Heidi, usually function to bring me back to earth.

So why am I telling you this? Why am I ensuring that you will think I am not just weird, but nutso and weird?

Because this was the song that God was pushing on me — it’s called “Closer to the Heart”

“And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones to start
To mould a new reality
Closer to the Heart

The Blacksmith and the Artist
Reflect it in their art
Forge their creativity
Closer to the Heart

Philosophers and Ploughmen
Each must know his part
To sow a new mentality
Closer to the Heart

You can be the Captain
I will draw the Chart
Sailing into destiny
Closer to the Heart”

Now, what am I supposed to do with this? Sometimes I get that “Who let the Dogs Out” song stuck in my head (woof. woof. woof woof.) but I don’t feel like that one speaks to me very much. What does this one mean to me at this point in my life right now? I didn’t say God explained things to me, he just talks sometimes.I have been feeling a real pull, but to where? Something to meditate on.

Ginghamsburg Church in Tipp City, Ohio gets it. They are a Protestant Church that does a dynamic cyber ministry. They have multimedia online sermons by their pastor, Mike Slaughter. They have the best online ministry I have ever seen for a Christian Church. Why oh why can’t we Catholics do this kind of thing?

I discovered Ginghamsburg through a book called Aquachurch which is written by my favorite Christian Futurist Leonard Sweet. He’s kind of like the Faith Popcorn of Christian Futurists. I already have his Postmodern Pilgrims, SoulTsunami, and SoulSalsa books. If you had to pick one of his to read first, I’d pick SoulTsunami if you’re interested in a survey of the Christian future and SoulSalsa if you just want to apply some of his futurist ideas to your life.

This is an old favorite from, like, three years ago or so. This Guy is seriously pretty funny: Eric Conveys An Emotion. It’s what you get when you combine a flair for web design, an expressive face, and a little extra time — you name the emotion, he makes the face and posts it on his site. He’s surprisingly good. Of course, back when I saw him years ago, he was doing simple emotions like “consternation” and “indifference” (Actually not so easy. Try it. I did.) and now gets requests (he takes requests, BTW) for stuff like “I’m too sexy for my shirt” and “the face of erectile dysfunction.”

I’m happy he’s still going. I think I’ll sidebar this guy along with the other five or six I’ve been meaning to add links to for about a week now. I love finding interesting folks on the Internet. Oh, I said that already, didn’t I?

Though I am curious, there’s no way I will do this: “hot or not” for blogs. Probably because I just don’t want to know. Besides my blog has the insecurity that comes with a journal-weblog split personality. I did rate a few blogs for kicks while I was there. Most looked like fives to me. Average webpeople, average weblogs.

Another blog staple I probably will not make a practice of doing is posting “The Friday Five” or the “Tuesday Two” or “The Wednesday What” as entries on my blog. I know that they are good for writing stimulus and for building community amongst bloggers, but still. Same goes for all of those “Which [pop culture meme] are you?” tests. I almost did the one for “Which Trading Spaces Character Are You” but I couldn’t tell how to answer the questions so I could come out to be Ty Pennington.

Seriously, these things are just not me, that’s all. I’ll just bore you with the stuff I think up on my own.

But I will post one test result: I am (usually) an ENFP and sometimes an ENTP. I kinda cheated, since I didn’t take the “Bloginality” test but knew my Meyers-Briggs type from a previous seminar. Everyone should know their Meyers-Briggs type, right?

I have to confess. I like Creed.

There. I said it. Horribly unfashionable of me, I know. Most of you out there can now complete your mental picture of me, sitting in front of Jerry Springer in my trailer eating pork rinds. But I will not be ashamed.

They’re not my favorite band by a long shot. And I am sick of “My Sacrifice” and “With Arms Wide Open” like everyone else. But I have some of their CDs and I play them occasionally and enjoy the experience, usually at high decibel levels.

I know pamie doesn’t like them. In fact, she thinks that all the Christian music acts like Creed and P.O.D. should go back to the fringe (read: ghetto) where they belong. She bemoans crossover Christian music as “God Wailing.”

I have been a pamie fan for years, don’t get me wrong. And we like a lot of the same music. And I know (hope) that at least some of her kvetching about music is for comedic effect. But we just don’t see eye to eye about this one.

And why should we? We’re from different religions. You see, everyone has a religion even if it’s a Default Religion. Everyone has answers to the Big Questions about Meaning and Values and Life and Death whether they accept one of the pre-packaged sets or just roll their own.. Just like the Rush song says, “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” (God, I’m quoting Rush lyrics now. What am I, like, thirteen again?)

And I can live with that. I’m okay, you’re okay. But in the Culture today, the Default Religion Dominates. When I flip on the radio I have to wade hip-deep into the world of Bling-Bling, booty, blunts, and bitches. So excuuuuuse me for being glad when a song or two breaks onto the charts and finally speaks to me where I live. I’m not even asking for equal time here. Just a simple presence, that’s all.

On their musical merits, I agree, Creed and P.O.D. are unremarkable. They are two among the flock of Pearl Jam/Korn hybrid clone bands whose sound has been so, well, done to death. Their lyrics suffer from the same ham-fisted sentimentality that a lot of Christian music suffers from. But when one band for some reason or another breaks out of the Christian Music Ghetto and gets a place in the spotlight for a while, that’s a cause for celebration. And it’s nice to be able to rock out once in a while, a la Tom Cruise in Risky Buiness, to something that won’t leave a grimy residue on your pshyche.

I know that it is common practice for businesses to take liberties with spelling and grammar on their signs, like spelling “right” “rite” and “quick” “kwik.” I can take that. Heck, my favorite mechanic is a place called “Kar King.” I can even take the useless “e” added to the ends of the words “olde” “grille” and “shoppe” to give their store name that English mystique. But there’s this one store whose name just bugs me — a place called “Embroid Me” on Hwy 3 down in Webster. Embroid me. Setting aside the fact that there is no verb “Embroid,” “Embroid Me” sounds like a place that people go for some sort of cut rate cosmetic surgery or body art. “Like my permanent eyeliner? There’s a special at Embroid Me, $59.99!”

I don’t know why that name bothers me so much when stores in strip malls that have the words “Hut” or “Shack” in their names do not. I can’t explain it. I do know that I can barely stomach the name of this swimwear shop (not shoppe) I pass on my way home. It’s called “The Wet Spot.” Eeeeew. Who’d buy a bikini at a place called “The Wet Spot?” The association is just too… eeeeew.

Favorite business names of mine are simple and descriptive. “Half-Price Books.” No mistaking that one. And there’s no ambiguity about what “Italian Cafe” offers. My all time favorite is a place I passed while taking a detour through Shepherd, Texas. It had a barber pole out front and a sign above it that read “Guns and Haircuts.” Not only could you tell what they were about, you could guess how they voted in the last election too. Now *there’s* a name.

I particularly liked Miss Guidance’s Daily Scolding at BuddhaJones yesterday:

“If I could spit one word out of my vocabulary, it would be spiritual.

This is good news, grumpus”

Now I say I liked this scolding because I agree with it wholeheartedly, which in turn means it’s not really a scolding for me at all. There are other days where I take my scolding full on and I, ahem, don’t share those.

Which is the greater opportunity to experience God — a sink full of dirty dishes or an hour in church? BEEEEEP. Wrong! There is no right answer. Just wash the dishes and then go to church. I need to do both anyway, right?

Down on the bar in our kitchen right now are four sticks of Teen Spirit deodorant and a package of Kotex Maxi Pads. Girlzilla, at the tender age of ten and a half, has hit puberty. Setting aside the disturbing implications of the trend toward increasingly early puberty in our young people, this is an unsettling experience for me. I thought I would have a few more years to prepare. Girlzilla was plenty prepared — she’d seen The Film, had The Talk, and The Period Book is downright tattered by now. I, on the other hand, am not prepared.

I know, I know, this is not about me. I need to be there for my daughter who is going through a big change. But she is quite fine with it. In fact I would not be sharing this here if she were showing any signs whatsoever of being self-conscious or shy about it. But she’s handling it very maturely and matter-of-factly. Good for her. In fact, as we were driving along tonight, she busted out with a question about the mechanics of feminine products and a short discussion ensued. I kept quiet, of course, this not being my bailiwick and all. No ma’am, not shy at all. Maybe not shy enough.

She and Heidi, in celebration of recent events, had a special Girls’ Day today. And I had been saving this really neat book called Girlosophy to give her to go with my “I’m proud of`the woman you’re becoming but you’ll always be my little girl too” speech. My little Girlzilla. Sigh.

She may have been ready, but I don’t think I am. It’s all adolescence from here on out.

I got home today after a long day at work and had a pleasant surprise waiting for me. My package from Urban Jungle Yerba Mate had arrived. Whew, and I had just run out of my Cruz De Malta! I ordered two glass mates, which disappointingly turned out to be these little coffee serving mini-carafes that hotels sometimes use (but they were cheap). And I also got a half kilo of this organic fair-trade yerba mate. I don’t mind paying extra for socially conscious products and this was about twice per ounce what I would normally pay for my stuff. Of course I get the rock bottom brand — the only brand Fiesta Mart carries which is probably grown on some slash-and-burn former rainforest land by virtually indentured serfs and sprayed with pesticides that are banned here in the states. Twice as much is not so bad. What some of the health food stores want for their earth-friendly Guayaki Mate is outrageous now that I know that rock bottom price is about $5/kilo.

Anyway, the people sent me some samples of their other mate varieties along with a nice hand-written note. They seemed like a personable mom and pop operation. The most pleasant surprise was the toasted mate sample. It is a completely different taste from regular mate. Anyone put off by the “green” taste of a beverage that is touted as a coffee substitute should try the toasted varieties. This tastes like a true coffee substitute — very nutty, rich, and smooth. I will probably have to order me some toasted mate now so I can collect the whole set!

And as a bonus, while I was looking for good mate prices I found a link to Gran Tangolandia, the store in southwest Houston which carries my favorite brands of mate. Now I can order mate from them without having to drive out there. I wonder if they have toasted mate?