Meta series, Part III
He awoke in a limo and dressed in a gray suit. She was humming something old and slow to herself. It became clear that he had been in this sort of stupor before, waking from a similar dilemma just a few hours previous. Upon coming to clarity, he tried the door and found it locked. Resigning himself finally to his fate, he rested against the leather seats and asked no questions. He supposed this wasn't technically Rect's first impression of Mason, though the memory of that whole meeting was more than a little foggy.
They walked into the large, stone tower. Silently, the two ascended 3 flights of stairs landed in a room of glass. No one paid them any mind.
That was nearly an hour ago.
The man in front of him sat tall and proud in his leather-bound, antique chair. He was corpulent, with a black-rimmed monocle, a white-on-white suit and had the hook of a cane hung over the mahogany desk. He drummed his fingers on the surface of the desk continuously.
"I see you made it here safely, Mason."
"And you must be Rect."
"Indeed. Do you know why you're here? Or do you need a bit of a refresher?" Rect laughed heartily then, unexpectantly, and the fat around his eyes bounced grotesquely.
"Um ... yes. Yes. I do need, what did you call it, 'a refresher.'"
The man got up from his desk, hobbled slowly over to within only a foot or two of Mason, and extended his left palm. "I trust your insignia has healed." Mason could see the same logo reflected on Rect's hand as was on his own. The larger man squinted his eyes for just a second and the brand began to glow. Without warning, Rect let out a gasp and his clothes fell to the floor. With a pop, a tiger stood where the man had been moments before.
"No," Mason said. "That can't be real."
The cat prowled around momentarily, yellow eyes fierce in the afternoon sunlight as it shone through the window. Again, it closed its eyes and Rect stood in its place after a moment.
"I am finding it more difficult to shift these days, so you will have to excuse the time it takes. But as you can see, based on that insignia in your hand, you are one of us." Fury gave a quick and dirty smile while Rect stood behind a semi-permanent wall to cover his nakedness.
"One of who? You mean I can shift? Is that what it's called?"
"To answer your latter question, yes. You can shift. It will take time to learn, though. Your genealogy makes it pretty plain, though the first time we found you in form you were very confused and had to be tranquilized to keep calm. Fury has been nursing you."
"And the first question?"
"O yes. Right. We are the Meta."
6.25.2008
Fury
Meta Series, Part II
When he comprehended her nudity, he turned away, sheepishly eyeing a swatch of discoloration in the shower tile. Then he realized she could see his buttocks through the glass slider and he became fidgety, asking questions and shifting his weight back and forth over his feet.
But she wouldn't tell him much more than he could have figured out on his own. When he asked a question she didn't want to -- or couldn't -- answer, she only remained silent. At last, she said, "We changed your name. We branded you. We welcomed you to 'the team.'"
"What if I don't want to be on 'the team?'"
"Oh, you do. We're sure of that. Positive, in fact." He turned his face to her and she looked strongly into his coal-black eyes, smiling jaggedly. She lifted her left palm to reveal a nearly-exact replica of the brand he carried. His stomach lurched and he shivered under the hot water, looking away.
She stepped into the shower, still smiling when they locked eyes for just a second. He promptly got out and grabbed himself a towel. "So let me get this right," he said through the terry cloth as he ran it quickly through his hair, dripping wet onto the linoleum. "My name is now Mason." The towel found itself wrapped tightly around his waist. He didn't know where to turn, so he walked into the living room, soiling the carpet and yelled from just beyond the doorway.
"Uh-huh"
"What?" He craned his neck toward the opening of the frame, but kept his eyes averted.
"Yes. Come back in here. You can't hear me."
"No," he said. "I'll be fine." Of all the things Mason now was, "fine" was not one of them. He began pacing back and forth over a 5 foot area, tramping down the thick flooring. He bit his nails until they bled. "Your name is ..."
"Fury."
He stopped in his tracks, unbelieving. "Seriously? Fury?"
"Yes. You've hit the nail on the head."
"What was your name before ... this?" He spread his arms wide for emphasis, even if she couldn't see it. His towel slipped just a little and he readjusted quickly.
"What was yours?," she asked.
"Wait, what?"
"Your name. What was it? Before ... this, as you just said." He could hear her smiling through her words. It didn't calm him.
"It was ..." His mind raced for some thought that would bring a name to his lips, but none came. "Dammit, I don't remember!" The panic began to rise in his throat, like sunlight. "Is this some kind of cruel joke? I'm in my apartment, for Chrissakes! How can I not know my own name? Are you a ... a ... mind-wiper?"
"No. Nothing like that." She chuckled and water filled her mouth. She swallowed. "Once you make the Crossing, unnecessary information like the name you carried in your past life vanish. You only keep what you need. Since you have a new name, there is no need for the old one. But I am getting ahead of myself."
"Wait. What do you mean by 'the Crossing?' Why would I want to cross anything? What the hell is going on?" He heard the water turn off and the slider open until it hit the opposite wall with a thud.
"Where are the towels?"
"Uhh... under the sink. Tell me about this 'Crossing.'"
"Not to worry, partner." She rummaged under the sink until she got what she was looking for. He quickly tossed on some pants and shirt, opting for some running shoes behind the door. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." She came out of the bathroom, hair boltered to her head and her body covered. Mason backed away from her, keeping his distance.
"We have a busy day ahead of us."
"Why do you say that?"
"We're going to see Rect."
"I'm not going anywhere with you." He backed up to a corner, hands raised. She quietly went to her bag and pulled out a small, black gun. "What in the name of hell is that?" His voice cracked over the last syllable.
"Just something to quiet your nerves." She shot him with the tranquilizer gun and all went black.
When he comprehended her nudity, he turned away, sheepishly eyeing a swatch of discoloration in the shower tile. Then he realized she could see his buttocks through the glass slider and he became fidgety, asking questions and shifting his weight back and forth over his feet.
But she wouldn't tell him much more than he could have figured out on his own. When he asked a question she didn't want to -- or couldn't -- answer, she only remained silent. At last, she said, "We changed your name. We branded you. We welcomed you to 'the team.'"
"What if I don't want to be on 'the team?'"
"Oh, you do. We're sure of that. Positive, in fact." He turned his face to her and she looked strongly into his coal-black eyes, smiling jaggedly. She lifted her left palm to reveal a nearly-exact replica of the brand he carried. His stomach lurched and he shivered under the hot water, looking away.
She stepped into the shower, still smiling when they locked eyes for just a second. He promptly got out and grabbed himself a towel. "So let me get this right," he said through the terry cloth as he ran it quickly through his hair, dripping wet onto the linoleum. "My name is now Mason." The towel found itself wrapped tightly around his waist. He didn't know where to turn, so he walked into the living room, soiling the carpet and yelled from just beyond the doorway.
"Uh-huh"
"What?" He craned his neck toward the opening of the frame, but kept his eyes averted.
"Yes. Come back in here. You can't hear me."
"No," he said. "I'll be fine." Of all the things Mason now was, "fine" was not one of them. He began pacing back and forth over a 5 foot area, tramping down the thick flooring. He bit his nails until they bled. "Your name is ..."
"Fury."
He stopped in his tracks, unbelieving. "Seriously? Fury?"
"Yes. You've hit the nail on the head."
"What was your name before ... this?" He spread his arms wide for emphasis, even if she couldn't see it. His towel slipped just a little and he readjusted quickly.
"What was yours?," she asked.
"Wait, what?"
"Your name. What was it? Before ... this, as you just said." He could hear her smiling through her words. It didn't calm him.
"It was ..." His mind raced for some thought that would bring a name to his lips, but none came. "Dammit, I don't remember!" The panic began to rise in his throat, like sunlight. "Is this some kind of cruel joke? I'm in my apartment, for Chrissakes! How can I not know my own name? Are you a ... a ... mind-wiper?"
"No. Nothing like that." She chuckled and water filled her mouth. She swallowed. "Once you make the Crossing, unnecessary information like the name you carried in your past life vanish. You only keep what you need. Since you have a new name, there is no need for the old one. But I am getting ahead of myself."
"Wait. What do you mean by 'the Crossing?' Why would I want to cross anything? What the hell is going on?" He heard the water turn off and the slider open until it hit the opposite wall with a thud.
"Where are the towels?"
"Uhh... under the sink. Tell me about this 'Crossing.'"
"Not to worry, partner." She rummaged under the sink until she got what she was looking for. He quickly tossed on some pants and shirt, opting for some running shoes behind the door. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." She came out of the bathroom, hair boltered to her head and her body covered. Mason backed away from her, keeping his distance.
"We have a busy day ahead of us."
"Why do you say that?"
"We're going to see Rect."
"I'm not going anywhere with you." He backed up to a corner, hands raised. She quietly went to her bag and pulled out a small, black gun. "What in the name of hell is that?" His voice cracked over the last syllable.
"Just something to quiet your nerves." She shot him with the tranquilizer gun and all went black.
The Scar
Meta Series, Part I
He rolled out of bed a little forlorn and feeling as though he had been run over with a truck. Twice. He stumbled into the bathroom, hand pressed hard against his temple. A clean linen bandage was tied around his left palm. He felt of the long bruise that extended down the right-side of his ribcage and his eyeballs throbbed in agony.
Ugh, he thought. What the hell did I get myself into now?
He took a furtive glance over his shoulder and saw an unfamiliar blond, fast asleep and breathing heavily. Her form made quiet waves under the white bedsheets. There's no way she would be waking any time soon.
He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. Steam began to rise toward the ceiling. Unwrapping his hand, he stared, startled at the revelation: this was no ordinary cut of the palm. This was a brand of some sort -- some burn that had all but healed, leaving scar tissue in the shape of a perfect circle encased inside a diamond. Inside the circle was the letter "M."
This isn't normal, he thought. Confusion began to set in as he washed up, letting the hot water peel away the layers of dead skin and dirt. He couldn't recall the last week. This was his apartment, his shower, his person. But the woman in his bed. The scar. The headache and ringing that began to build in his ears. All foreign.
"Mason," she said as she stepped into the doorway. He didn't notice her disrobing as he jumped at her voice. "You forgot to wake me."
"That isn't my name," he said.
"It is now."
He rolled out of bed a little forlorn and feeling as though he had been run over with a truck. Twice. He stumbled into the bathroom, hand pressed hard against his temple. A clean linen bandage was tied around his left palm. He felt of the long bruise that extended down the right-side of his ribcage and his eyeballs throbbed in agony.
Ugh, he thought. What the hell did I get myself into now?
He took a furtive glance over his shoulder and saw an unfamiliar blond, fast asleep and breathing heavily. Her form made quiet waves under the white bedsheets. There's no way she would be waking any time soon.
He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. Steam began to rise toward the ceiling. Unwrapping his hand, he stared, startled at the revelation: this was no ordinary cut of the palm. This was a brand of some sort -- some burn that had all but healed, leaving scar tissue in the shape of a perfect circle encased inside a diamond. Inside the circle was the letter "M."
This isn't normal, he thought. Confusion began to set in as he washed up, letting the hot water peel away the layers of dead skin and dirt. He couldn't recall the last week. This was his apartment, his shower, his person. But the woman in his bed. The scar. The headache and ringing that began to build in his ears. All foreign.
"Mason," she said as she stepped into the doorway. He didn't notice her disrobing as he jumped at her voice. "You forgot to wake me."
"That isn't my name," he said.
"It is now."
Hurt
Sometimes I forget how good songs are until they are spun again. Here is Johnny Cash's last video, "Hurt" -- a Nine Inch Nails cover.
6.24.2008
Yay speeding! Boo tickets!
So, I got 2 speeding tickets in one week. In one road-trip, actually. I can't say I blame the cops for pulling me over. I mean, I WAS indeed speeding. However, one of the cops was a REALLY nice guy -- he even asked me to think about becoming a member of the CHP -- while the other was just, well, a jerk. Really, I just found it ironic that I can speed in the city where there are tons of cars, but not in the country, where it is really safer to travel at such speed -- nothing to wreck except you, your car and maybe a picket fence. O well. Guess I've learned my lesson.
6.09.2008
Pop-Culture Christianity
Ugh. Where to start? I hate the fact that the Gospel is being repackaged to "fit" a generation of teens and 20-somethings. Christianity isn't something designed to be "cool" and it shouldn't have to fit into the pop-culture box in order to be accepted. Either one of two things should happen: God impresses Himself on the heart of an unbeliever so that the man submits his life to that of Christ and His kingdom; or He does not do so and the man is abandoned to the judgment that is destined him. Harsh, I know, but that is reality.
I do not think that there is something we can do to make Christianity look better. Eating grapes in a New-Age fashion instead of drinking juice at Communion, using modern metaphors BECAUSE we think the metaphors of the Bible are "out-of-date" (someone really said that), or using our HUGE trucks plastered with NOTW as a religious advertisement are all examples of "cooling up" our religion.
The God of the Gospel is the same yesterday, today and forever and no amount of effort on our part will change the way God operates with His people.
Hear me out: I am not saying we should give up electricity, let the sinners die where they fall, or become Bible-thumping corner hooligans. Not at all. I AM saying that we should focus on our own spirituality, not on the outward extravagances that make up the person we would like the world to think we are; we should clean up the reputation of our churches, our pastors, our ministers -- not by making them more "acceptable" to the outside world, but by keeping them accountable for their own holiness.
What I have noticed happening at times is that the message is being tweaked so more butts are in pews. "God is Love," while true, is not wholly-correct if not taught that He is also a jealous, righteous and angry God. We ignore the parts we don't like -- and even tweak the parts we do -- in order to make Truth look more appealing.
We are to be ministers, missionaries, pastors, etc. -- not truth-benders. I will not sacrifice the kernel of veritas that has been given me so that I can make God look cooler.
I do not think that there is something we can do to make Christianity look better. Eating grapes in a New-Age fashion instead of drinking juice at Communion, using modern metaphors BECAUSE we think the metaphors of the Bible are "out-of-date" (someone really said that), or using our HUGE trucks plastered with NOTW as a religious advertisement are all examples of "cooling up" our religion.
The God of the Gospel is the same yesterday, today and forever and no amount of effort on our part will change the way God operates with His people.
Hear me out: I am not saying we should give up electricity, let the sinners die where they fall, or become Bible-thumping corner hooligans. Not at all. I AM saying that we should focus on our own spirituality, not on the outward extravagances that make up the person we would like the world to think we are; we should clean up the reputation of our churches, our pastors, our ministers -- not by making them more "acceptable" to the outside world, but by keeping them accountable for their own holiness.
What I have noticed happening at times is that the message is being tweaked so more butts are in pews. "God is Love," while true, is not wholly-correct if not taught that He is also a jealous, righteous and angry God. We ignore the parts we don't like -- and even tweak the parts we do -- in order to make Truth look more appealing.
We are to be ministers, missionaries, pastors, etc. -- not truth-benders. I will not sacrifice the kernel of veritas that has been given me so that I can make God look cooler.
5.28.2008
5.19.2008
Sonnet XII
Not newly written, but worth a post, I think.
O Lovely, do not weep for me –
your salty tears will do nothing
for this poor boy’s heart and
you’ll build up only a well to
die in. This absence will not
be too long, my glorious girl,
and the miles will build
an intimacy like winter. I will
go, always facing the enemy,
heart always held in your
baker’s hands and glowing.
Fly the flag of our deep affection
over the fortifications in your soul
and tell them of our deep resolve.
Destroying/Building Never Felt So Good
I have no apologies for my lack of writing. I have had little to say. With that, we move onward...
This past weekend, I got a chance to do some ministry with CA. It was called Urban Plunge, we worked with Youth With A Mission (YWAM) and delved into the inner-city. Some people called it a missions trip, though there was little missions work done; it was called an outreach, though that doesn't seem to apply, either. In all honesty, it was more like ministry to those already doing the missions work full-time -- I would definitely call it inreach more than outreach.
That said, on Saturday we woke early and got out to the Pico/Union district in LA. I got to demolish plaster in a building erected in the 20s -- I mean all walls and ceiling in 2 rooms. By the time I was finished, i was covered in white from head to foot, happy as a clam and sore -- very sore. While there, I made a friend in Lukas -- a guy a couple of years older than me, and with a mind for construction (also like me.) We pulled out plaster, chicken wire and floor molding. Az did a great job in helping and getting her hands dirty -- I was very proud.
Next day, arose early again and cruised out to First Evangelical Free Church. There, our team covered multiple projects in a place called The Nehemiah House. -- It is used as a shelter for young adults, a home for the worship pastor and all around cool commune of people. The house was built in 1895 and it shows. Not only is the architecture beautiful, it is in a state of dilapidation and needs repair.
Lukas and I were given the task of drywalling a basement wall. We pulled all posters, shelving, etc. off of it, tore down the old fiberboard construction and erected a new wall made of sheetrock. It took all day, but Az helped with the mudding and taping. All said, it was about 288 square feet, minus the doorframe. We placed the new electrical behind the wall, and cut in slots for the water piping to come through. It was very productive.
Anway, erecting things like that is something I greatly enjoy. 1 Thes. 4:11 makes it a point to tell us to lead a quiet life and to work with our hands. In destroying something of no use, or of danger, and in creating something of beauty and utility in its place, I feel as though this is how things are supposed to be. We are supposed to be doing these things all of the time. So, Lukas and I are going to go back to First EV Free and help out some more. We don't have details yet, but it should be good.
Honestly, I just enjoy working with my hands. I am not writing about my experience to brag, but to get it out. Working like that gives me time to ponder the eternal -- I think a lot about God, Christ and His godhead, and His ability to construct something beautiful from the damned. Its funny, but it puts things into perspective -- in placement of a sinner, God has erected a saint. The metaphor is imperfect, but it is one that stays with me.
This past weekend, I got a chance to do some ministry with CA. It was called Urban Plunge, we worked with Youth With A Mission (YWAM) and delved into the inner-city. Some people called it a missions trip, though there was little missions work done; it was called an outreach, though that doesn't seem to apply, either. In all honesty, it was more like ministry to those already doing the missions work full-time -- I would definitely call it inreach more than outreach.
That said, on Saturday we woke early and got out to the Pico/Union district in LA. I got to demolish plaster in a building erected in the 20s -- I mean all walls and ceiling in 2 rooms. By the time I was finished, i was covered in white from head to foot, happy as a clam and sore -- very sore. While there, I made a friend in Lukas -- a guy a couple of years older than me, and with a mind for construction (also like me.) We pulled out plaster, chicken wire and floor molding. Az did a great job in helping and getting her hands dirty -- I was very proud.
Next day, arose early again and cruised out to First Evangelical Free Church. There, our team covered multiple projects in a place called The Nehemiah House. -- It is used as a shelter for young adults, a home for the worship pastor and all around cool commune of people. The house was built in 1895 and it shows. Not only is the architecture beautiful, it is in a state of dilapidation and needs repair.
Lukas and I were given the task of drywalling a basement wall. We pulled all posters, shelving, etc. off of it, tore down the old fiberboard construction and erected a new wall made of sheetrock. It took all day, but Az helped with the mudding and taping. All said, it was about 288 square feet, minus the doorframe. We placed the new electrical behind the wall, and cut in slots for the water piping to come through. It was very productive.
Anway, erecting things like that is something I greatly enjoy. 1 Thes. 4:11 makes it a point to tell us to lead a quiet life and to work with our hands. In destroying something of no use, or of danger, and in creating something of beauty and utility in its place, I feel as though this is how things are supposed to be. We are supposed to be doing these things all of the time. So, Lukas and I are going to go back to First EV Free and help out some more. We don't have details yet, but it should be good.
Honestly, I just enjoy working with my hands. I am not writing about my experience to brag, but to get it out. Working like that gives me time to ponder the eternal -- I think a lot about God, Christ and His godhead, and His ability to construct something beautiful from the damned. Its funny, but it puts things into perspective -- in placement of a sinner, God has erected a saint. The metaphor is imperfect, but it is one that stays with me.
1.24.2008
Such an American
We as Americans work more than anyone else on the planet. We are workaholics. I feel like I am beginning to "fit right in" to my own culture -- I have gotten a second job.
On top of my 40 hour a week position at Prime, I am also throwing freight and driving a truck for a courier service at night, M-Thursday. Here is my schedule:
0830am -- Wake up
930 -- Leave for Prime
1030 -- Begin working
0300pm -- lunch!
0700 -- Get off work and drive home
0800 -- Get home; nap until 0820
0830 -- Leave for work
0900 -- Begin working
0330am -- Get off work
0400 -- Go to sleep
All of this to say, please pray for me. I don't want to burn out, but I need to pay bills and make ends meet. I went to my primary boss yesterday and asked for a raise. He is working on it.
On top of my 40 hour a week position at Prime, I am also throwing freight and driving a truck for a courier service at night, M-Thursday. Here is my schedule:
0830am -- Wake up
930 -- Leave for Prime
1030 -- Begin working
0300pm -- lunch!
0700 -- Get off work and drive home
0800 -- Get home; nap until 0820
0830 -- Leave for work
0900 -- Begin working
0330am -- Get off work
0400 -- Go to sleep
All of this to say, please pray for me. I don't want to burn out, but I need to pay bills and make ends meet. I went to my primary boss yesterday and asked for a raise. He is working on it.
12.03.2007
My Prayer Today
Sometimes I write out my prayers, especially when I am at work and taking time to close my eyes lends people to believe that I am sleeping. This particular one sort of encompasses some of the things that I have been learning about because of Brennan Manning and his passionate messages -- that is why I am posting it. Please do not consider these words Pharisaic, as they were not intended to reach anyone else's ears but God's.
My God, this poor boy has been ransomed by your grace and, with downcast eyes, I realize your love is like the oceans with their dark and wondrous depths. Teach my heart to pray in silence, my mind not to wander, my feet to be sure in each step of the journey. You have met me in the deafening quiet of my faith and you mix it with your blood, knowing how weak I am. My Father, I am not of the substance of heroes, but I pray you would use these rough and calloused hands for your kingdom. May I be a blessing to others, even as you have been a blessing to me. Lord, I want to know how to love unconditionally: teach me to pray for my enemies, to make space for your depth in my shallow self, to give my heart to you more fully. God, steal your glory back from me, for I do not know what to do with it, even as I try to rob it from you. Thank you for your goodness, for your incomprehensible nature, for your ruthless, unmitigated grace.
My God, this poor boy has been ransomed by your grace and, with downcast eyes, I realize your love is like the oceans with their dark and wondrous depths. Teach my heart to pray in silence, my mind not to wander, my feet to be sure in each step of the journey. You have met me in the deafening quiet of my faith and you mix it with your blood, knowing how weak I am. My Father, I am not of the substance of heroes, but I pray you would use these rough and calloused hands for your kingdom. May I be a blessing to others, even as you have been a blessing to me. Lord, I want to know how to love unconditionally: teach me to pray for my enemies, to make space for your depth in my shallow self, to give my heart to you more fully. God, steal your glory back from me, for I do not know what to do with it, even as I try to rob it from you. Thank you for your goodness, for your incomprehensible nature, for your ruthless, unmitigated grace.
Sonnet VI
Sonnet VI
Barefooted, you tread the soft soil
damp earth of my self, quietly --
too quiet for words, or sighs
or breath – you come into the
center of my bosom like a phantom
and your hands reach up my trellis
counting the worn and tattered leaves;
I am growing warm underfoot.
With your eyes made of honey
and lips tasting of blood, your
silent invasion has caused a ripple
across my country-side; there are fires
where there was once peace. My damp earth
self is flooded with flame.
Barefooted, you tread the soft soil
damp earth of my self, quietly --
too quiet for words, or sighs
or breath – you come into the
center of my bosom like a phantom
and your hands reach up my trellis
counting the worn and tattered leaves;
I am growing warm underfoot.
With your eyes made of honey
and lips tasting of blood, your
silent invasion has caused a ripple
across my country-side; there are fires
where there was once peace. My damp earth
self is flooded with flame.
11.14.2007
Sonnet V
Sonnet V
I awoke with clear and honest eyes
to you -- the embodiment of soft parts
and soft words, to your singing in warm hallways --
to corridors smelling of your handiwork.
With your voice, the bread rises with the sun, golden,
the cherries sweetly drain at mid-day,
the potatoes murmur in their boil at dusk.
But your crowning lies in the after-glow
of pumpkin-spice along the apple-pathways,
plucking fallen fruit from the orchard floor
and dusting each as a child before they
rest in soft-piles at the road-side.
How we dance in the honeysuckle goodness of your
hands, how we take in solid joy by the mouthful.
I awoke with clear and honest eyes
to you -- the embodiment of soft parts
and soft words, to your singing in warm hallways --
to corridors smelling of your handiwork.
With your voice, the bread rises with the sun, golden,
the cherries sweetly drain at mid-day,
the potatoes murmur in their boil at dusk.
But your crowning lies in the after-glow
of pumpkin-spice along the apple-pathways,
plucking fallen fruit from the orchard floor
and dusting each as a child before they
rest in soft-piles at the road-side.
How we dance in the honeysuckle goodness of your
hands, how we take in solid joy by the mouthful.
11.13.2007
Sonnet IV
Sonnet IV
Naked, your body has the fullness of the horizon
The roundness of your breasts like the curvature of the world
where heaven meets earth and the
sea casts its shape.
In the Autumn twilight, I see you nude with poppies
and laurel, with the brown clay of our youth,
with fire and flood in your eyes.
Naked, you have traveled into my dreams, and naked
you rest there,
cupped like a dove in the palm of my hand
lying quiet in the hollow of my abdomen
My naked and lovely queen, how
your form calls to the glory of
the world.
Naked, your body has the fullness of the horizon
The roundness of your breasts like the curvature of the world
where heaven meets earth and the
sea casts its shape.
In the Autumn twilight, I see you nude with poppies
and laurel, with the brown clay of our youth,
with fire and flood in your eyes.
Naked, you have traveled into my dreams, and naked
you rest there,
cupped like a dove in the palm of my hand
lying quiet in the hollow of my abdomen
My naked and lovely queen, how
your form calls to the glory of
the world.
11.12.2007
Sonnet III
Sonnet III
In the wood-workings, the carvings of lost cultures
I glimpse your almond-eyes, standing as a
testament to time, a lighthouse in the darkness;
a piercing, perfect apparition.
Where the hibiscus grows and the sea-sand
glistens, there your tiny feet leave prints
on wet soil, fitting within my own impressions
in the dust. Here, even as we are apart
you live inside me. Where I travel, there
too you will be. When I float about those
bulbous waves as driftwood and the sea
robs me of my everything, still
I will keep you in the hollow
I've built within me. You will be carried still.
In the wood-workings, the carvings of lost cultures
I glimpse your almond-eyes, standing as a
testament to time, a lighthouse in the darkness;
a piercing, perfect apparition.
Where the hibiscus grows and the sea-sand
glistens, there your tiny feet leave prints
on wet soil, fitting within my own impressions
in the dust. Here, even as we are apart
you live inside me. Where I travel, there
too you will be. When I float about those
bulbous waves as driftwood and the sea
robs me of my everything, still
I will keep you in the hollow
I've built within me. You will be carried still.
Pablo Neruda and the 100 Love Sonnets
This weekend, I picked up 100 Love Sonnets by the 1971 Nobel Laureate and my favorite poet, Pablo Neruda. He dedicated the entire book, every line, word and phrase to his beloved wife. With that in mind, I have decided to try my hand at a similar, though much smaller endeavor. I will write 20 sonnets and post them as they come. The term sonnet will be more a loose reference than a strict adherence. I will try to maintain an octet and sextet. I have written 2 sonnets today, so here they are.
Sonnet I
The twilight brings you to me
your thick-as-night hair destined
to entwine about my body, as heat
wrapped round the sun.
In your earthy-eyes, I see
the wheat and deep-soil color of kisses
of your lips pressed against my open heart
and the pulse of harvest, of wine.
Your hips, my portion of the moon
the sway and pounding of sea-salt
in the air, on my skin, in my body --
you have taken dominion.
May you produce a new measure, a new
world in me with your earth-forming eyes
and echo of endless foam.
Sonnet II
You are the heiress of beauty, a ray of stardust
of fire, of flame. Lighting in me that hot tempest,
you melt my bones and take the marrow of my manhood
for your own.
You drink me in with little sips, like lemonade
on summer days. Salty and biting, I go in your mouth
and traverse the insides of your body,
exploring the hidden hills with dark clarity.
My wild-fire, when your hands have seared my heart
and my blood boils with longing, when your pink'd
cheeks have scalded this white chest and burnt
into this body of wood, take me as your own --
Take me and recall my oaken fragility,
let the scent of my burning be your stonghold.
Sonnet I
The twilight brings you to me
your thick-as-night hair destined
to entwine about my body, as heat
wrapped round the sun.
In your earthy-eyes, I see
the wheat and deep-soil color of kisses
of your lips pressed against my open heart
and the pulse of harvest, of wine.
Your hips, my portion of the moon
the sway and pounding of sea-salt
in the air, on my skin, in my body --
you have taken dominion.
May you produce a new measure, a new
world in me with your earth-forming eyes
and echo of endless foam.
Sonnet II
You are the heiress of beauty, a ray of stardust
of fire, of flame. Lighting in me that hot tempest,
you melt my bones and take the marrow of my manhood
for your own.
You drink me in with little sips, like lemonade
on summer days. Salty and biting, I go in your mouth
and traverse the insides of your body,
exploring the hidden hills with dark clarity.
My wild-fire, when your hands have seared my heart
and my blood boils with longing, when your pink'd
cheeks have scalded this white chest and burnt
into this body of wood, take me as your own --
Take me and recall my oaken fragility,
let the scent of my burning be your stonghold.
11.09.2007
He Kau -- A Season
I am working on writing in Hawaiian, though I am sometimes unsure of the grammar. Here is the latest hand at it.
Kaini'i ikaika
Na nalu nui, huhu, hae
He kino o koa hehe'e
O konikoni
Me limu kohu, me lipoa
Emi a kahe 'oe
Kai make me ka mahina
Kaimalie,
Na wai o kalama
Ho'opa kahakai
Malu, kakahiaka hiki mai
English:
Powerful, salt-encrusted sea
waves large, angry, fierce
a body of melting, fluid strength
of passion
with red seaweed
and valuable seaweed
You ebb and flow
tides receding with the moon.
Silent sea, light on your waters
touching the shore
Peace, dawn approaches
Kaini'i ikaika
Na nalu nui, huhu, hae
He kino o koa hehe'e
O konikoni
Me limu kohu, me lipoa
Emi a kahe 'oe
Kai make me ka mahina
Kaimalie,
Na wai o kalama
Ho'opa kahakai
Malu, kakahiaka hiki mai
English:
Powerful, salt-encrusted sea
waves large, angry, fierce
a body of melting, fluid strength
of passion
with red seaweed
and valuable seaweed
You ebb and flow
tides receding with the moon.
Silent sea, light on your waters
touching the shore
Peace, dawn approaches
11.08.2007
A Funny Birthday
Saturday was my biological mom's birthday. She turned 57. A few days previous, Pualani and I put our heads together and decided to bar-b-q for her. Az was cool enough to come meet her, bake some cookies and brownies, and hang with us all afternoon. It had been over a year since I had last seen her.
At times, I got a distinct awkward feeling, as though we didn't really know one another. I suppose that is true. But we had some fun talking about when I was a boy and I think Az got a chance to see how I interact with my biological family a little more, so that was good.
For her gift, I made her a CD what we listened to while playing some dominoes. She loved it. I also did some hula for her, as I heard that she misses home.
The best part of the whole thing was just the time that we got to spend together and the fact that we got to eat. There were some initial set-backs to our cooking endeavors (Pualani was late to her own house, there was a stove-top fiasco, no lighter fluid, the coals wouldn't burn, etc.) but everything worked out in the end.
As a result of this whole thing, Pua said she is thinking about dancing when the Ike Kume class begins. I'm seriously looking forward to it.
At times, I got a distinct awkward feeling, as though we didn't really know one another. I suppose that is true. But we had some fun talking about when I was a boy and I think Az got a chance to see how I interact with my biological family a little more, so that was good.
For her gift, I made her a CD what we listened to while playing some dominoes. She loved it. I also did some hula for her, as I heard that she misses home.
The best part of the whole thing was just the time that we got to spend together and the fact that we got to eat. There were some initial set-backs to our cooking endeavors (Pualani was late to her own house, there was a stove-top fiasco, no lighter fluid, the coals wouldn't burn, etc.) but everything worked out in the end.
As a result of this whole thing, Pua said she is thinking about dancing when the Ike Kume class begins. I'm seriously looking forward to it.
11.05.2007
Kahi Ao ka Mauka
Kahi ao ka mauka
Kahi po ke kai;
Kunihi ka mauka,
Malie ke kai.
Na wai no Kakahiaka
Kalama no Po'ele'ele
Ola, Make
Malu, Kaua
Na'e ku laua
Kahi po ke kai;
Kunihi ka mauka,
Malie ke kai.
Na wai no Kakahiaka
Kalama no Po'ele'ele
Ola, Make
Malu, Kaua
Na'e ku laua
10.26.2007
Ke Kaiao O Ka La Mua
The Dawning of a New Generation
On Saturday, the halau (school) that I dance for (Na Meakanu O Laka O Hawaii) and the Ke Po'okela Cultural Foundation hosted a night of music and hula. Alongside our halau, 5 other schools had performers on stage ranging in age from as young as 4 to as old as... well, old.
I showed up at noon even though the show did not begin until 7 in the evening. There were plants to set up, a run-through to go through, people to meet, things to carry, etc. As one of the only men of the halau, I got a chance to serve the women, which was very cool. It is pretty amazing how many things a girl will bring to a performance.
Previously, we had all met here and there, made our own lei and kupe'e (wrist/ankle bracelets of ti leaf or kukui nut) and began forming the bonds of friendship. As a result, when everyone was there it was like we were all part of one very large 'ohana hula.
That part is true as well; our kumu hula (headmistress) taught each of the other kumu and gave them their title, effectually letting them teach others and pass on the knowledge of the kupuna (ancestors). This resulted in all of the kumu being close friends -- like family, and we, their students became family by association as well. Real hula has always been a matter of pride to the Hawaiian and we take our hula lineage seriously. This night -- The Dawning of a New Generation -- was Aunty Mohala's formal presentation of our halau to our new kumu hula, Mahiehie. It was Aunty Mohala's wish to present these new kumu as the new face of hula that we might begin to perpetuate our culture on our own.
The performance itself went off without a hitch; everyone danced well and we had a lot of fun. My favorite 2 parts, however, happened both before and after the show.
First - before the show - Polala (a man from Kauai) presented Aunty Mohala with some sacred gifts of the islands. Everyone was musing about in the lobby before getting to our dressing rooms when he asked her if he could present his makana (gifts) to him. When she said yes, he began a chant that was long, fluid and filled with ikaika (power). As soon as his voice began its rhythmic sway, the lobby became silent. All eyes turned to the exchange between him and her. She began crying as he told her in Hawaiian of how he climbed the mountain to get her gifts, of the making of her lei, etc. It was very touching.
Second - and equally important - was after the show when I got to introduce Az to my kumu, some aunties and fellow dancers. Everyone loved her straightaway and she fit in to this part of my family very nicely. It was very, very cool.
The above picture is of just a few of the dancers that performed in a piece called "He Inoa Kalani" -- a dance written by King Kamehameha II -- in which 60 people sat on stage, dancing and chanting. It was surreal.
On Saturday, the halau (school) that I dance for (Na Meakanu O Laka O Hawaii) and the Ke Po'okela Cultural Foundation hosted a night of music and hula. Alongside our halau, 5 other schools had performers on stage ranging in age from as young as 4 to as old as... well, old.
I showed up at noon even though the show did not begin until 7 in the evening. There were plants to set up, a run-through to go through, people to meet, things to carry, etc. As one of the only men of the halau, I got a chance to serve the women, which was very cool. It is pretty amazing how many things a girl will bring to a performance.
Previously, we had all met here and there, made our own lei and kupe'e (wrist/ankle bracelets of ti leaf or kukui nut) and began forming the bonds of friendship. As a result, when everyone was there it was like we were all part of one very large 'ohana hula.
That part is true as well; our kumu hula (headmistress) taught each of the other kumu and gave them their title, effectually letting them teach others and pass on the knowledge of the kupuna (ancestors). This resulted in all of the kumu being close friends -- like family, and we, their students became family by association as well. Real hula has always been a matter of pride to the Hawaiian and we take our hula lineage seriously. This night -- The Dawning of a New Generation -- was Aunty Mohala's formal presentation of our halau to our new kumu hula, Mahiehie. It was Aunty Mohala's wish to present these new kumu as the new face of hula that we might begin to perpetuate our culture on our own.
The performance itself went off without a hitch; everyone danced well and we had a lot of fun. My favorite 2 parts, however, happened both before and after the show.
First - before the show - Polala (a man from Kauai) presented Aunty Mohala with some sacred gifts of the islands. Everyone was musing about in the lobby before getting to our dressing rooms when he asked her if he could present his makana (gifts) to him. When she said yes, he began a chant that was long, fluid and filled with ikaika (power). As soon as his voice began its rhythmic sway, the lobby became silent. All eyes turned to the exchange between him and her. She began crying as he told her in Hawaiian of how he climbed the mountain to get her gifts, of the making of her lei, etc. It was very touching.
Second - and equally important - was after the show when I got to introduce Az to my kumu, some aunties and fellow dancers. Everyone loved her straightaway and she fit in to this part of my family very nicely. It was very, very cool.
The above picture is of just a few of the dancers that performed in a piece called "He Inoa Kalani" -- a dance written by King Kamehameha II -- in which 60 people sat on stage, dancing and chanting. It was surreal.
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