Okay, this is the first iteration. Really I am only beginning with a slight wisp of an idea and am afraid it originated more from daily thoughts than from actual thinking. By this I refer to "thoughts" as the confrontation with the outer while "thinking" as an embodiment of rheumatoid moments without the arthritis. The pleasant communion in the inner sphere before confronting the external textures. In other words, Driving a car demands thoughts while driving home this point needs more thinking. A distinction that describes probably a 99/1 split of my daily kilometers. Yes, I know I am an american (actually North American as my good friend J.A. would like to remind me) and should probably describe distance in miles, but I am raising a British son it seems. The morning project on this brisk saturday of a day, as my son mentioned in passing, was going to be a "catapult." He caught me unawares with his British terminology, but in the end I did discover he was referring (with accurate king's english none-the-less) to a slingshot. Our first iteration of said catapult gave its full effort to produce a gentle arching trajectory of about 5-7 meters. Without a doubt, further iterations are needed to support the slightest hope of wilderness survival.
This innocently catastrophic iteration which befell me has seemed to make this literary iteration inch (I mean centimeter) closer to the fire which first let up the wisp of smoke. Let's give iteration three a try (If anyone is still around).
It seems the third iteration is the charm, or rather the third day is the breaking of the charm and the dawning of spring. We have been freed from the pursuit of iteration and awakened to life with all the generations before us!
We, at The Ink Society, do not stand for "Chronologic Snobbery" even in the recent past. Therefore, it seems only fitting to recognize that what was written before might even be more seasonable and felicitous today. With this principle before us, we offer the following from the annals of The Ink Society:
While traveling on the continent, my friend and I made our way from the east of Europe, to the west by a night train that shrieked and jumped at every station on its way to Munich. Let the reader please note, the terms “sleeper train” and “seats that lean back’’ found on a rail pass are used frighteningly loosely. Very few minutes of sleep were had, and the seats did not lean back more than two inches. This shows our nescience, but now you have no excuse. All I ask is--for heaven’s sake--to consider the wisdom of spending the extra fifteen Euro, guaranteeing a night of sleeping horizontally. After a stay with German friends near the town of Swabisch Hall, Germany—the birthplace of the famed family of Bonhoeffer—we trained north to the Flemish speaking, town of Mechelen, Belgium, a town with a beautiful canal, narrow streets and speedy busses. Our lodging was a town-house across the street from a very Soviet-esque factory—complete with smoke-stack—which now serves as a daycare and goes by the name of Happy Land (pictured above). Two days after arriving in Mechelen, we took a day trip to Delft, Holland. This essay does not discuss that town, but rather an event which happened on our journey to it. (More)
I am not exactly sure why some people tend to read constant movement, or the compulsion to travel as a result of some sort of dissatisfaction. We tend to look at people who move around a lot as people that can’t be happy, or that have a hard time being happy in a place. This assumption is probably true in some cases, but let us make sure that we don’t let it be true in every case.
The more places that I see, the more inspired I am to see even more. As I experience the beauty around me, it only furthers my understanding that there are beautiful things tucked and hiding in every single corner of the world. And I want to find them. Sometimes people ask me if I will “ever be happy” or “ever be satisfied” as if I’m moving from one thing to the next as some sort of search for self worth. This used to trap me in some false guilt. But I would like to tell those people now that I am happy. I have been living life and growing up, and I have been fortunate enough to see many places along the way, so far. But I wouldn’t have seen these places, or taken those classes, or met those people if I was making all these decisions with a motivation of self-fulfillment.
I almost feel like my experience in life is little mini-revelations of discovering my potential and abilities, and going for it. Then I find a little more, and move a little more. Now, I think that I can do this in one stationary place, yes. But do I have to? How can I communicate a content lifestyle hand in hand with a lifestyle of curiosity and movement?
Well, for starters, I can do things like this. I can tell you all that I am happy. I am growing. And I plan to continue to grow whether I am in a new place or an old place.
September 5, 2012
"And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. And while they still disbelieved for joy and were marveling, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate before them." Luke 24:40-43
"they still disbelieved for joy"
Too good to be true? No is the answer as the thundering rush of an unlooked-for reality overwhelms the disciples. Finally, what so often seems too good to be true actually is. He is risen! Their belief can hardly contain the wonder. Pastor Bill Vogler spoke so eloquently on this passage Easter Sunday by expounding on the moments recounted above (please listen here). The opportunity to hear his thoughts helped bring the wonder of this moment from the passage upon me. Together with Bill's message, I read this week of a husband and wife in Argentina who wanted to see their deceased baby at the hospital morgue. The wife had been sedated during the delivery and never even had a chance to see her baby. When the parents went in with unbelievable sorrow in their hearts to the refrigerated room and the compartment opened that contained their child, the baby made a noise and moved slightly. The baby was alive! My emotional response to this story reminded me of just how the disciples must have felt at that moment with Christ. I usually fail in joining an accurate emotional response with the disciples because of familiarity with the story. However, the crux of history has exceeded the best news possible and though seeming too good to be true…is. Our joy is in no danger of disappointment. Death has been conquered and immortality brought to light!
On the Porch
Roeland Park, KS
Never Morning Wore To Evening
Oil on Canvas, 1894