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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 24: Epiphany

January 7, 2013

 

Adoration

The Feast of the Epiphany…”epiphaneia, “manifestation”, “striking appearance” the visitation of the infant Jesus by the Magi from the East. Celebrated in Christendom on a variety of dates, depending upon one’s calendar and traditions. In my tradition, January 6th. Since I haven’t gone to bed yet, it’s still Epiphany in my time. In the Roman Catholic tradition, the end of Epiphany marks the beginning of Ordinary Time.

I’m not Catholic; however, my life appears to be taking place in Ordinary Time. The period before the Resurrection. The period of ‘hit the ball, drag Marty’. One of my favorite jokes, if you’ve ever heard it.

Melancholy tonight. I decided that this wouldn’t become a platform for my battles against depression; so that’s all I’ll say on that subject.

There was a murder in my dorm back in my college days; a girl I didn’t know, but it changed life in the dorm. For some people, the subsequent investigation and uproar probably changed their lives forever. The Creator was merely a concept in my mind at the time; my life as a part of other people’s lives was also a concept at that time. I remember how my innocent next door neighbor changed dramatically as he was being investigated as  a subject. It appeared that the police used his investigation to draw attention away from the search for the actual killer–a 16 year old Freshman who’d been rejected by the older girl.

Christmas was changed forever for hundreds of people this season. In a family that I consider part of my family, even though I’m not really in their thoughts, a death and a re-awakening of life happened in the last week or two. A murder and a life-saving transplant. Mass murders were happening all over the world in the weeks of this Christmas Season. The time before the Incarnation revisited. Some of the murders received more attention than others. All were losses.

The painting above is taken from a Norman Rockwell illustration. The right-hand portion is a copy of his painting, the left half my own. It started as a painted window–a Christmas gift for a former church congregation. It greets me each Sunday as I enter the church we attend now.

The Christmas Story has become so sanitized these days, that it would hardly be recognized by Mary and Joseph. In the days following the slaughter of all of the 2 years and younger children of Israel, by Herod the King, a young pregnant couple couldn’t find a room for the night. They were offered the barn. “Stable” sounds so much better than a barn. It’s possible that the mule ride and subsequent events that aren’t covered in Scripture caused the child to be born…

Farm animals aren’t housebroken. One must muck out the barn on a regular basis, replacing the crappy straw with clean straw. Scripture avoids the muck. Our pastor asked the children at the Christmas Eve service whether they had pets, and if their pet had a food dish. That was where the infant Jesus was placed after his birth. In the animals’ food dish–the Manger. Hardly an auspicious beginning.

The “Call the Midwife Holiday Special” was heart-rending in its images of the Nativity/the Incarnation. A young girl giving birth alone in an abandoned building… the playing of “Oh Come, Emanuel” as the nurse and nun peeled the clothes from an elderly woman and gave her her first bath in years. The Creator became human so that our grime could be washed away, and so that we could share that washing experience with others. Some of the murders of recent weeks, like those instigated by Herod, were also acts that were politically-based. What we refuse to learn we are destined to repeat…the murder of children continues.

We were given substantial monetary gifts this Christmas. Charity. Hard to swallow; hard to refuse. We shared some of the funds with others; the gifts of charity were increased. Paid medical bills with the rest.

Dan Fogelberg is one of my healing places when I’m melancholy. Tonight I am thankful for his creativity, a soundtrack to so much of my life; I’m sorry he left so soon. I believe he is still writing and that I’ll be able to hear him again. The “After” equivalent, that is. I believe that the Creator became human in order to lead us to where we will go. I believe music is somehow involved.

One of my favorite DF memories is a time in Newberg, working on the house of a young couple who needed to make it more weather-resistant before the Winter rains. My gift of a few days labor, with Dan keeping me company for much of that time. I remember going to sleep in my hammock, listening to his music. So much of my life is centered on construction; something I don’t appear to be able to do anymore…

I watched “The Vow” tonight. “Inspired by actual events,” a young woman suffers a massive brain injury in a car wreck on a snowy road. When she awakes from the induced coma, she no longer recognizes her husband of 3 or 4 years. Her brain is erased after an event that occurred 5 years in the past. Her husband is determined to win her love again; she is no longer the same young woman he married. She watches a video of their wedding, and her passionate marriage vow; to her, it’s someone else’s story. The ‘for better or worse’ vow is meaningless for her.
“It can all be gone in the twinkling of an eye… is that all there is? There must be something more than this… [All There Is–Dan Fogelberg]

Fortunately, there is more than this.

the universe in his hands_mer

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 21: Politics

October 28, 2012

A warning from the outset: if you are planning on voting for Mitt Romney, you probably won’t like what follows. The efficient person will therefore not waste time by reading this. If you are like my brother-in-law, it will only raise your blood pressure , and you won’t like most of what you read.

I am not expecting to change anyone’s mind, nor am I trying.

I finished this image in 2008; I began it on that night in 2007 that Hilary Clinton conceded that she would not be the Democratic candidate for President…

Commemoration of President Barack Obama’s election to the Presidency of the United states

The quotations above, from the Declaration of Independence, from President Abraham Lincoln,  Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and President Barack Obama all share Dr. King’s hope:

I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

Four years later, I find that I am voting against Mitt Romney and the Republican party platform, more than I am for President Obama. Prior to the 2008 election, I was a registered Republican, and voted for Republican candidates for something like 40 years.

I created the image above because I was honoring what I thought was impossible–that a person of color could ever become President of these still-racist, not-very-united States.

I am about as ‘white’ as one can be–from the color of my hair to the coloring of my skin. I spend most of my life in my office  in Oregon; I haven’t spent any significant time in the sunshine for years. I am also a first-generation immigrant to this amazing country. My forebears came to this country from Norway and Sweden; presumably to find a better life than they experienced in their home countries. I have never had that kind of courage; and have only found one other place than Oregon that I’d prefer to live–the expensive Hawaiian Islands. My ‘adventure’ in freelancing has made it so that we can’t afford to live elsewhere- I invested the ownership of two ‘free and clear’ houses into mortgages that have supported my business.

Not entirely coincidental to the campaigning of recent months, I’ve been listening to “Yes We Can-Voices Of A Grassroots Movement”– an album of music commemorating the Obama Presidential campaign. The music is interspersed with quotations from Dr. King, as well as from Senator Barack Obama:

“The fundamental belief that I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sister’s keeper, that’s the promise we need to keep. That’s the change we need right now” Senator Barack Obama

Many Conservatives apparently hate that quotation; because they believe that this is not part of the American Constitution. For them, somehow this belief translates into the concept that people don’t have to care for themselves; that they don’t have to achieve based on their own efforts. That people who advocate this kind of thinking want the government to take responsibility for their lives.

I am my brother’s keeper. I do not believe that the Government should take care of all of my needs.

I am a follower of Jesus Christ. For the last 40 of my 60 years, this understanding has been the foundation of my life. Nearly every decision I make is filtered by this belief. I don’t always make the ‘correct’ decisions. Or, perhaps more accurately, the consequences of these filtered decisions don’t always end up with results that I assumed would occur.

Many of us hear the words of Dr. King, and hope is rekindled. Many of us hope for a country that operates in a way where human failing doesn’t have the final vote. We hope for a perhaps-utopian vision where people treat each other with respect, honesty and fairness. Where elected officials truly serve their constituencies; rather than the desires of a Special Interest group.

The subtext I see in the hundreds of email messages I’ve received from Progressive groups  in recent months, is that the Presidency is bought. The party that raises the most money wins. Granted, there is a ‘trickle-down’ effect that benefits certain portions of the advertising and printing services in our country.

What happened to the notion that character and belief determines the outcome of elections?

In my opinion the Obama Presidency has been a disappointment. A recent PBS documentary included a scene from a Hilary Clinton speech, where she said, in effect, that Senator Obama was naive, if he thought that the desire for cooperation would have any impact on Washington. She was correct. It’s a naive thought. Our government has been corrupted by money and power; reflective of many of our citizens.

The fact that the Obama Presidency has had only limited success in overcoming the greed and selfishness of corporate-serving Republicans in Congress isn’t a reason to give up on The Dream.  A family member of mine is convinced that President Obama is the worst president since President Carter. Coincidentally, the only other President in my lifetime that was overtly Christian in his words, policies and actions. Fortunately, Jimmy Carter, the former-President, has been able to accomplish more in this world than he ever would have as a former-Governor.

President Obama’s military policies belie his Nobel Prize for Peace. However, my belief is that the Nobel Prize was given to the first person-of-color to become President of a country that still believes that ‘all white males were created equally’. The rest of the world knows this truth, and knows that Americans live with the fantasy that that we are far better than we behave. The rest of the world remembers Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the Japanese internment camps, and the slaughter of our indigenous population; the policies of the State of Arizona, and similarly-held white-only prejudices.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I still have a dream that our country can live in harmony. That people of all colors, all nationalities, all religious beliefs can share the earth equitably. That we can assist other countries in their growth without becoming their overseers.

It’s probably just wishful thinking. But what’s the alternative?

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 20: Freelancing

September 16, 2012

1950's fashion models

The images above are for a fashion-industry product launch that is supposed to happen in the near future.

A long time ago, in what seems like another lifetime, I was involved with a direct sales organization. While I had some talent for selling alarm systems and water treatment systems, it wasn’t a way of life that interested me. I had aspirations for the potential lifestyle, but in order to have that lifestyle,  I was trying to be someone that I  really did not want to be. I did gain some valuable insights into Life, and the experience changed me in a positive way.

One of the things I found most valuable was to find out whether or not an ‘expert’ really has any experience with the subject being taught, or whether the information comes from books and classes; and has never been practiced. I once met a man who was teaching a college class in Small Business. When I asked him about his experience, I discovered that his only ‘Small Business Experience’ was the Small Business classes he had taken in college. He’d never owned nor operated a small business. He didn’t have any life experience to pass on to others. But he was getting paid to teach students who wanted to learn how to run a small business. This doesn’t make sense.

When I started this blogging gig [a form of marketing], I decided that I would only write about things I’ve experienced; rather than attempting to present a picture of myself that isn’t real. The other night I spent a couple of hours retouching some images for a client– removing some unwanted inches and some unsightly cellulite. She’s using the images on a personal website; but the reality is that her published appearance will be an illusion. In our media-rich world of the present, it is very difficult to separate illusion from reality.

Back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, it never occurred to me to do much research regarding college and career paths. In high school I drew; and enjoyed technical illustration. I assumed that since I could do that in high school, I would be able to do the same thing in college. Bad assumption. When I arrived at Oregon State University, my only options for drawing as a major were architecture and art. I didn’t really want to spend my life drawing houses [I never had grand aspirations], and I’d always heard the term “starving artist”. Majoring in ‘starving artist’ seemed like a waste of time and money, so I chose architecture.

My first career, after my 5 years of college and my professional degree in Architecture, was construction. I soon learned that all that was needed for being a contractor was a pickup, a Black Labrador, a hammer and a Skilsaw. I never did find a Black Lab. I had children, instead.

In between careers #1 and #2, I worked briefly for an architect; and confirmed that I didn’t want to spend my life drawing houses– more specifically, apartments. And yet, career #2 found me reviewing house plans for Building Permits. I eventually ‘graduated’ to high-rise buildings and block-square commercial developments. Life is humorous…

On doctors’ orders, after 14 years with the City, I moved on to career #3–that of a Building Code/architectural consultant; and freelance commercial artist/illustrator. My self-description varies with the month and the nature of the work I’m doing. At present, “commercial artist” is the favored description. Partially because no one uses that terminology anymore…

I really can’t recommend the life of a freelance commercial artist. Generally, it sucks. I spend far more time marketing myself than actually earning any money. The images above were ‘pro-bono’–the only income I might derive is from referrals somewhere down the road. Someone else, in theory, will earn some money because I created the images. However, I volunteered for the opportunity,  so I’m not really justified in complaining. I would prefer a world where I got paid for the hours involved in creating the images.

I never have tried to get a job as an illustrator/commercial artist. I’ve learned that I really don’t make for a good employee; I’m too opinionated about my work. I don’t like being told to create something I disagree with. Sometimes I have to make design decisions I don’t like, but I do it voluntarily, rather than by being told to, ‘do it, or else… ‘ I prefer the option of choosing to decline the opportunity.

I was paid for the images below. They are images that are in the background of a much larger composition– “extras” in Hollywood terminology. The scene in which they are present is based on  a scene from the movie “Titanic”. The cast was selected from people in my portfolio; images created for other purposes. I wasn’t paid much for these particular images, but I was paid to draw while watching a movie. Can’t beat that.

I spend 2-3 hours per day trolling Craigslist; looking for ‘creative gigs’ across the country. I often spend an hour or two adapting a prior illustration to fit with a particular job description that interests me. When I was a Building Contractor [CEO of a corporation, for that matter], I was taught that a 4% return on a mass marketing campaign was a good return. 4 out of 100; more accurately, 40 out of 1000. One might have to go through 900 rejections before the first positive response is received. That’s a lot of rejection, if one looks at in that manner. It’s better to simply regard it as valuable information, and the cost for a success.

My experience with freelance illustrating is fairly similar. I think I get more favorable responses than 4 our of 100 jobs I inquire about.  It might even be as high as 10%. I don’t do the math; it can be discouraging. Out of the jobs I do get responses for, I probably earn something similar to minimum wage, if I count every hour I invest in a project. However, not every hour is a justifiably billable hour. Sometimes I have to do a lot of experimenting to finally arrive at an idea that works. Billing a client for experimenting is probably justifiable, but at the end of a day of experimenting, I might not have anything of value to show the client for that day’s work. I try to base my fees on what I think an outcome is worth, rather than the amount of time invested on my part. Not necessarily a smart way to do business, but I rarely have clients who complain about my work.

It would be smarter to get a job; and I’m continually thankful for the retirement income I earned from my 14 years working for the City. We manage; and we’ve had to live a limited lifestyle. We don’t travel, we don’t eat out much; we rarely go to concerts or do activities that cost money to attend. We don’t buy stuff that we really don’t need.  For some, this would be intolerable. For those who want to live the lifestyle advertised on television: don’t become a freelance artist.

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 17: This is what I am here to teach—a mystery!

June 4, 2012

 

 

As I write this, I’m watching a biography of Audrey Hepburn. Watching the images go by on the screen, there are so many that are familiar. I illustrated a biography of hers several years ago; a ‘work for hire’ job for which I was paid; but never saw in print. One of my projects that did not go well. Portions of the illustrations went well, but overall, the book’s illustrations flopped. As usually happens when I illustrate a book, I became immersed in her life, searching the Internet for photos, and watching her films; all in a space of a few weeks. Watching her story after all these years is a strange déjà vu.
Judy and I were on our way to Denver, Colorado, to attend Rob’s graduation from Johnson & Wales University. I planned on working on the illustrations with my portable drawing board, scanning the drawings at Kinko’s, and manipulating them on my laptop. My laptop decided to crap out on me during the trip; and most of the illustrations had to get finished after we returned home, by working 16 hours a day for 2 weeks, in order to meet my deadline. As it happens whenever I have to work in a rush, things did not go well, and I had no time for making better versions of the images… I delivered my illustrations on time, I got paid, but received little satisfaction from the project.

    “All of life is a mystery, but the answer to the mystery is outside ourselves, and not inside. You can’t go on peeling yourself like an onion, hoping that when you come to the last layer, you will find what an onion really is. The mystery of an onion is still unexplained, because like man, it is the issue of an eternal creative act. I stand in God’s shoes, but I can’t tell you any more. Don’t you see? This is what I am here to teach—a mystery! People who demand to have all of creation explained from beginning to end are asking the impossible. Have you ever thought that by demanding to know the explanation for everything are committing an act of pride?  We are limited creatures. How can any one of us encompass infinity?”

Pope Kiril I, The Shoes of the Fisherman; Morris L. West

…I got paid, but received little satisfaction from the project… I wanted a ‘do-over’, but didn’t have the chance. A lot of the people in my life are going through difficult times right now; myself included. Doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem fair, we want a ‘do-over’. As they were growing up, I often told my children that ‘life is hard; then you die’. This is my third career, the first two not ending as well as I’d have liked. The line, “…and they lived happily ever after…” hasn’t been the story of my life. Until I reflect upon the lives of others…
    A scene from a Hiroshima Diary, another project that didn’t work out; again because of an unreasonable time line. The above illustration was a gift. I was compelled to create the drawing above, the product of a drawing marathon, and I felt the Hand of the Creator guiding me. Unfortunately, I had to earn a living while working on the project, and I could not devote the concentrated time that I had with the first illustration. The story, written from the reflections of a woman still living in Japan, tells the story of a teacher who returned to Hiroshima a few days after the bomb, looking for her niece and nephew. Throughout the story she meets other children, all of whom die in her arms, from radiation poisoning. Children everywhere, separated from their parents or huddling by their deceased parents. The teacher brings a final blessing to their short lives. A part of our ‘proud American history’ that never gets told…
One of the reasons why I watch so many movies is to enter into the stories of other people. I prefer living my life in my cave, rather than interacting with others; at the same time I realize that my Creator made me as a person who needs other people in my life, in order for me to grow. When I was in college I was told repeatedly that “God has a plan for your life;” and I’ve always wondered whether I was really following that plan. My desire has been to follow that plan, and my desire has been to live the life I felt led to follow. My assumption, based on things I’d heard from platforms and pulpits, was that my life was supposed to work out well—by my definition of well. In truth, my life has worked out well; but I suffer from the Human Condition, I suffer from envy. I want my life to work out like some other people’s lives have worked out. Funny how we rarely envy those who live in tin- or cardboard shacks. I’ve met people who live in tin- or cardboard shacks, and have been learning that happiness does not depend upon the things with which we clutter our lives.

Some people are content with not asking questions about their lives; some people have no questions to ask.

    These lives remind me of the fact that I am blessed. I’m angry with my dissolving body; I’m angry about the stupid financial decisions I made when I didn’t realize that the economy was going to collapse. And yet, I have a roof over my head; my children have roofs over their heads; I’ve been married to Judy for 36 years [in a couple of weeks]; my career with the City earned a small pension that pays a lot of our bills. I can create images that have meaning for me.
Life is a mystery. Sherlock Holmes isn’t around to answer all of the questions for us. We have to live with the questions until we get Home. A lot of people claim to have answers to the questions, and I suppose it’s a good thing that these answers work for them. Unfortunately, a lot of the answers aren’t as universal as they believe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 14: the right thing to do

March 12, 2012

I’m a fan of [some] Samurai and Kung Fu movies… Japanese/Chinese Westerns. Unlike American Westerns, in these movies, the hero usually dies.
Today I watched Mibu gishiden / 壬生義士 / “When the last sword is drawn”; a story set in the late 1800’s, near the end of the Shogun period of Japanese history, when the Emperor was gaining power. In many ways the story has similarities to “The Last Samurai” in that it deals with the change from traditional Japanese life to the transition into the Age of the West. Interestingly, in an interview with the author of the novel from which the movie was made, he said that he wrote the story, in part, to remind his countrymen that they were still Japanese. “Sometimes I think we are half-American.”

The story tells of the Shinsengumi, described by the author as ‘dropout’ Samurai–mercenaries protecting the Shogun; and in particular, “Kanichiro Yoshimura, a Samurai and Family man who can no longer support his wife and children on the the low pay he receives from his small town clan. He is forced by the love for his family to leave for the city in search of higher pay to support them…” [C. Maginnis ]
Despised by his clan, the story tells of how he is truly an honorable man.

I enjoy these stories involving violent men and women, not for the violence, but for their stories of honor, bravery, sacrifice and decency. Stories that tell of the importance of tradition, family and keeping one’s word.

I also love the craftsmanship found in the sets for these stories. In my other life as an architectural/Code consultant, I recently had the pleasure of visiting a Historic Federal building in Old Town; a building that was clearly built in a different age; the ‘age of decoration’. Standing on the roof of the building, near a section where a higher roof overlapped; I saw that on the underside of this roof overhang, 4ft above the roof I stood upon, where only maintenance people would ever see, were cast ‘rosettes’ about a foot in diameter. I’m always amazed/intrigued when I see carving on the roofs of tall, old buildings. Decorations placed where few will ever notice. Placed there because it was the right thing to do.

I spent several hours on Thursday, Friday and the weekend editing and re-editing a video ad that should have only taken a few hours to complete. It took me 5 [delivered] tries to get it right [many more, undelivered]; and demonstrated to myself that it’s possible to go from moderately skilled to inept, in a matter of several months of inactivity. On my last delivery, I told the client to ignore my bill, because I was embarrassed by my performance. I expected the job to pay me for two hours of time; it probably took 10 or more. He offered to pay me for an additional two hours, so I delivered a larger bill with my 4th try, finished at 4:30a yesterday. While I remember watching the 4-part, minute-long promotional ad, I somehow missed the fact that I had put part 4 at the beginning as well as at the end. So I ended up sending the clientt a larger bill for something that wasn’t even acceptable…

I decided, when I was younger, that when I got older, I wouldn’t be one of those people who complain about their health all the time. So I avoid telling people much about this *interesting* time of my life. At the same time, I try to live transparently, and in such a manner that I can offer some wisdom [which only comes from experience, which mostly comes from lack of wisdom]. 80-90% of my sensory nerves are gone. My motor nerves seem to mostly be unaffected, but my brain has to work overtime to enable me to keep my balance, and other details. As much as I hate to admit it, I think the stress of my new life causes me to lose focus more than I’d like. I have more trouble finding words, and being able to express words, than I did a year ago. I make mistakes I didn’t make a year ago…

It would be ‘easy’ to simply quit, and decide I just couldn’t cut it any longer. I have a small pension, the equivalent of a low-paying job. And a really large debt load from 12 years of self-employment, most of them pre-pension. In many ways it would be ‘easy’ to just  idle away my hours watching movies all day. To do that would be [in my eyes] dishonoring me, dishonoring my family and dishonoring my Creator [not necessarily in that order]. I believe that my Creator loves me in spite of my failures and successes; I am blessed to have a family that believes similarly. Then there’s that other guy, the one in the mirror. He is the hardest to please. Fortunately, he was shown Grace and Forgiveness a few decades ago.

Prayer, Placebo or Prozac? I was diagnosed as ‘clinically depressed’ back in the nineties; but was either not offered a medical alternative; or was too proud to admit that it could help. I’ve finished my first week on Prozac, in theory too soon to expect much improvement. Last Thursday was the first ‘good’ day I’ve had in months. I still had all of my aches, pains and losses, but they were easier to bear/I had more energy. There are a lot of people who have me on their prayer lists. Improvement from the expectation of a pill’s working is a known medical phenomenon. Friday and Saturday were ‘new normal’–uncomfortable, but not crummy; as the last months have been.

All of this  brings me back to hero movies. Examples that show there are some things worth sacrificing one’s life for. Reminders that struggle can be worth the pain it causes. Reminders that it’s worthwhile to live for something larger than me.

 

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 13: the predicament of nuclear man

February 27, 2012

Today is my 39th Re-Birthday.

The first part of Henri Nouwen’s “The Wounded Healer” [The Search of Nuclear Man] describes my theological quest for meaning in life: “When we look around us we see man paralyzed by dislocation and fragmentation, caught in the prison of his own mortality. However, we also see exhilarating experiments of living by which he tries to free himself of the chains of his own predicament, transcend his mortal condition, reach beyond himself, and experience the source of a new creativity.”
Using Nouwen’s categories, I was a Mystic in a time of theRevolutionaries during the first half ‘the seventies’. Too bound by my upbringing to truly become a Revolutionary–I considered emigrating to Canada to avoid the Draft, but didn’t have the nerve. I was ‘saved’ by a very high draft number. Had I been born 4-6 hours earlier in my 10-month gestation, I would have probably become a 2nd Lieutenant in Vietnam, with a 20-minute life expectancy. I had no religious beliefs nor upbringing, so I could not become a conscientious objector; even though that was an appropriate definition.

I came to life in college.
I really have very few memories from childhood. Memories from our family cabin on the Sandy River, near Brightwood, Oregon. Some hormonal experiences/dreams. Some boring trips to my grandmother’s house in Condon, Oregon. Memories of my Grandparents’ house. Helping my ‘Grandfather’ [great uncle] build their last house. Riding my bicycle/jumping off of my bicycle onto our lawn. Playing in the back yard of my across-the-street neighbor/best friend, Bobby. There are more memories from high school, although not a lot. Memories of my best friend, Pete; and my other best friend, Mark. Pete remains on the periphery of my life; Bobby and Mark are absent.
For many years, I felt as though I could clearly remember every day of my two years at Oregon State. Discovery. The beginnings of an understanding of who I am. Chronic despondency. Hours and hours in my darkened room, listening to the dreary music of Rod McKuen and other folksingers who saw the problems of life, but had few suggestions for improving the situation.
“In the absence of clear boundaries between himself and his milieu, between fantasy and reality, between what to do and what to avoid, it seems that [he] has become a prisoner of the now, caught in the present without meaningful connections with his past or future. When he goes home he feels that he enters a world which has become alien to him. The words his parents use, their questions and concerns, their aspirations and worries, seem to belong to another world, with another language and another mood. When he looks into his future everything becomes one big blur, an impenetrable cloud. He finds no answers to questions about why he lives and where he is heading. [He] is not working hard to reach a goal, he does not look forward to the fulfillment of a great desire, nor does he expect that something great or important is going to happen. He looks into empty space and is sure of only one thing: If there is anything worthwhile in life it must be here and now.”

At University of Oregon I encountered The Eternal. I lived across the hall from two of those ‘annoying Christians,’ who in time, became close friends; Brad remains my spiritual ‘father/big brother’. After months of asking, I finally agreed to go with them to their Sunday night meal and Bible study at the pastor’s house. One gathering sticks in my mind; the group was kneeling in a circle at the end of the evening, praying; and I realized that these people were not delusional, they actually were in contact with someone I did not know, nor had ever heard about.
“For the mystic as well as for the revolutionary, life means breaking through the veil covering our human existence and following the vision that has become manifest to us. Whatever we call this vision-“The Holy,” “The Numinon,” “The Spirit,” or “Father”-we still believe that conversion and revolution alike derive their power from a source beyond the limitations of our own createdness.”

While I consider today to be the anniversary of my rebirth, it really didn’t happen on an individual day. It probably started in my second year at Oregon State, when I told my good friend, Jeff, to quit bugging me about his newly-found belief in Jesus: the story of the druggie that had an overnight conversion and became a street preacher. Our 2am sessions in the dorm hallway, Jeff singing Crosby, Stills and Nash in a voice like Neil Young; and then singing strange Christian songs in the same voice. He moved his ministry to University of Oregon after I wrote  a lonely letter describing my living among strangers. The conversion process continued actively for my next three years at U of O and my first couple years after college. By the time I was 28 I was indelibly altered.

After nearly 50 years of an artist’s life, I really can’t find a single image that represents my coming to faith. Which is probably why I consider myself an illustrator rather than an artist. I don’t do well with creating abstract images; and the conversion to faith is an abstract process. The Apostle Paul’s description of life as a battle may have something to do with my fascination with Asian martial arts movies, even though I’m a pacifist. One of the reasons I could not honestly become a member of the Society of Friends [Quakers]; even though their beliefs are probably more along the lines of my own than the conventional Protestant church.

“…and the monstrous creatures of whales” [below] probably represents my faith most adequately, although I really don’t know why.  The Eternal cannot be described in an image; the wonder of Creation can perhaps best be described by the ocean of the South Pacific [I’m not familiar with the South Atlantic]. Warm, teaming with life, teaming with Wonder. I invested two years of my life creating the full-size image from which the image below is derived; in the *interesting* nature of my life, I can’t justify the expense of printing the image in its glory…

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 12: to tame the savageness of man

February 6, 2012

A friend of mine posted an article on Facebook, an analysis of the Republican Party and it’s apparent trend toward Social Darwinism. Along with the article was my friend’s comment: “who do we really turn to to resolve these issues?”

My reply: “God help us, I’m not sure they are in politics, yet. Maybe they’ll arrive sometime in the future. To me, at this point in time, it seems like, ‘endure, and survive’.”

I watched the movie “Bobby” this evening, written and directed by Emilio Estevez. Emilio  shook Bobby’s hand at the age of 5, and it forever changed Emilio’s life.

I’d forgotten…

There was a time; there was a champion, beloved and respected by many. He was bringing people of all colors and creeds together; with hope for a new beginning.
His father called him the ‘runt’ of the Kennedy clan. US Attorney General under his brother’s Presidency, he was known by most people, and he was disliked by many in ‘the Establishment’. The Senator from New York was not expected to follow in his brother’s footsteps; but he felt a call to speak for a new time…

“If we believe that we, as Americans, are bound together by a common concern for each other, then an urgent national priority is upon us. We must begin to end the disgrace of this other America. And this is one of the great tasks of leadership for us, as individuals and citizens this year. But even if we act to erase material poverty, there is another greater task, it is to confront the poverty of satisfaction—purpose and dignity—that afflicts us all. Too much and for too long, we seemed to have surrendered personal excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things.** ”

I was 15 when Bobby was assassinated. I was fairly oblivious. A classmate in high school was devastated. I don’t remember his name, but he was an outspoken Protestant Irishman. I didn’t understand, nor did I care to understand his political beliefs; but his passion I have never forgotten.
Over the years, I have grown to understand Bobby’s significance in American history, and the loss we suffered. By the time I turned 18, three short years later, and was facing the Draft and probable end of my life in Vietnam, I was no longer oblivious.

I find, at this period of my life, I get angry during election years. I get angry at the political rhetoric; I get angry at the posturing; I get angry when I hear comments that seem to have no understanding of what I believe we are supposed to be as people.  I lean toward the Progressive Liberal side of the spectrum; mostly because of my understanding of the teachings of Jesus. The oddity of me calling myself a Progressive Liberal is that I’ve been a Republican for most of my life; a follower of Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln–ardent Progressive Republicans. I’m currently a part of a church whose membership is largely made up of people from the other end of the political spectrum than I, who tend to be of the party affiliation that I’ve fled.
I dislike getting angry with comments from the people I attend church services with. I prefer the company of books and movies to the company of people; it’s an effort for me to be among people on a weekly basis. However, I know that my soul needs to associate with fellow Believers. As my life has become so closely involved with Bobby’s quotation from Aeschylus, I don’t know that I have gained that much wisdom from living a life filled with pain…and now a life where the ability to feel pain is continuing to diminish. I know, from my living among other Believers, that the Eternal inhabits prayer. The Eternal does not necessarily provide answers to prayer; but those who pray can become more.

I had hoped that the miraculous event that occurred in 2008 would perhaps usher in a New Time in America. It seems to have mostly intensified the America of my young adulthood. That “other America” Bobby spoke of. My children are all in the vicinity of their thirties–one side or the other– and I wonder if they will see the Arthurian vision of Camelot in their lifetimes…

The fictionalized character of busboy Juan Romero, who was holding Bobby’s hand when the Senator was shot in the Ambassador Hotel.

and thus ended the vision of Camelot for my generation.

**http://www.jfklibrary.org/Research/Ready-Reference/RFK-Speeches/Remarks-of-Robert-F-Kennedy-at-the-University-of-Kansas-March-18-1968.aspx

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