Somebody is Trying to Tell me Something.

Ramblings Post #208
I wanted to put song lyrics here for some reason. Not explain it or even mention that they were song lyrics. I'm guessing they would appear as muddled train of thought writing perhaps. And people (okay, person) who reads this would look at it and be puzzled for a while until they heard it on the radio and went "Oh, yeah." Then it would be less mysterious. But I guess I'm not putting up song lyrics. Don't know why, just not.

What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.
~ Sylvia Plath

I have often mused that God speaks to us by pushing the little levers in our lives that create the opportunity for larger things to happen.  By maybe nudging the coin during the flip, by making us pause for a minute for no reason we can think of at the time, starting a chain reaction the end of which we might not ever see. It's a odd way of looking at faith if you will.

So I went to my second religious service in less than two weeks. The first service for a funeral, the second a christening. So like bookends if you will. But what was most interesting is that both sermons talked about living your life to the fullest.

The funeral was for a man who had died relatively young. Relatively, because he was way older than I am now, but as I intend to live much, much longer it's still a bit unnerving. The reverend, in the classic mold of the old Southern preacher - sweating, shouting and infusing the words with the power of truth, implored us in his sermon to "live your life so that when your time comes, they don't have to look for, ask for, beg, or pay people to come to your funeral to share your story." I've heard that idea before, live life to the fullest and all that, but then little over a week later after the christening, the sermon from a young preacher echoed this theme, pointing out we only have so much time - and so we need to start "living" that time. He asked us to do so because the worst thing you can do is "return yourself to God in the original packaging."

Perhaps "someone" is trying to tell me something.

It's not like I haven't been working towards self improvement for the past few years. I went to school at night and working by day, committing all my time, energy and attention to carving if nothing else higher education..and in a larger sense a better opportunity for me. And that plan is in its final stages, buckle down time. It is living of a sort. But then, I've kinda sacrificed a lot of other parts of my existence to get to here. And truth be told, although I've done a whole lot of living, there are whole parts of my reality unexplored.

So I've printed out a passport application.

I'm going to start back on my writing. And concentrate on one title, this time. (Well, maybe two... three... four stories tops!)

Cut back the indulgences on my diet. Yeah, that sounds counter-intuitive, but technically for the past few weeks I've been breaking my indulgences with my diet. Plus I looked good slimmer. Well, I still look good now, but I looked even better even slimmer.

I'm going to speak up on some things I've been silent about for too long.

I'm going to get back to my friends, my family, my people, the city and city living. Get back to living because as they like to say, "none of us are promised tomorrow." Get back to good company, good restaurants, and the quiet joy that comes from what seems like an unremarkable evening that you know will live in your memory forever.

Well, maybe after I take the bar..., 'cause I got like loans and junk.

Barkeep. Make this one of my last ones, because all that studying I was doing on the side is about grab the wheel again.  

A Throwback Restaurant Review - Kevin Rathbun's Steakhouse

I had dinner with Sporty.

Last week, for my birthday, I gave myself a present and sent Sporty a book I made by hand, just for her. In was some poetry, some quotations and a story I wrote that put on the table the reasons for a whole lot of things. I was my birthday and I can do as I damn well please. So I sent her a book. A book I wrote for her.

She said it made her laugh, and it made her cry. That will be the best review I ever get for anything I'll ever do.

So, anyway, this morning at she hits at before dawn, letting me know she's on the plane. When we were rolling, I used to know her whole travel schedule, so this is a throwback move. She's in town for the weekend, seeing everybody, but tonight it's just me and her hanging out. Dinner is at seven, but after three I suddenly get the willies...I'm nervous about seeing her again. But I suck it up, and head down to Kevin Rathbun Steakhouse down in the Inman Park area.

I actually run into Sporty in the parking lot, as the valet is taking our cars, so there is no movie moment of drama. It's just two folks who hadn't see each other in a while happy to see each other. She was beautiful. Her skin was brown as a nut from the sun and that same light had her hair turned a bright blond, dressed in white pants and black black tank with a black vest...(and wait, I had on a white shirt and black pants. Spooky?)

Rathbun's Steakhouse is a nice spot and worth the money you'll pay. Done over in a brick with sleek black booths and seats, our waiter Charlie was quick and always within visual range, unlike a lot of restaurants where every so often you wish the servers were GPS enabled. There is kind of an arty feel with antler-ish chandeliers and jazz playing in the background. Sporty liked it.

We got the crab cake to start, and I had the fillet and she had the ribeye. The steaks are juicy, the mashed potatoes are light and airy, and just so you know, the scalloped sweet potatoes have cheese in them. Sporty tried them but they switched her to the twice baked potatoes, which again had taste we couldn't identify, but were still good. We skipped dessert.

She and I ate, drank and told stories...for the better part of three hours. Our waiter, the formerly happy to have us there Charlie had to wonder why we'd locked down his table, but he did stay friendly.

We talked about Dallas and it's schisms and how she misses Atlanta. We discussed her school and my school - she made the most compelling argument for full time law school I've yet heard - and we talked about her old situation and then, for a long while, we talked about God and faith and where she is spiritually right now. She told me I need to ask God for what I want....but then what I want is her, so there you go. But I'm a firm believer in that when you love someone, you care about them more than yourself. So again, there you go. She's turned into a real philosopher since last I spent time with her. She's different...but the same. It's a zen thing, since we dressed as yin and yang. She got my jokes when I tried to be funny, but she was thoughtful, and made me think. She was Sporty.

And I still love her.

If you need a steakhouse and aren't afraid to spend a few bucks, Mr. Rathbun has a fine establishment, if this there is no doubt. And if you need a good waiter, ask for Charlie. And if I don't go back to being a broke student immediately, and if Sporty comes back and wants to go again (although we did agree if I go to law school full time we'll hookup at the Waffle House on her return trips)...I'd gladly take this steak. It came with good memories.

A Quick Book Review - The Shack

Ramblings Post #14
I like to read. There I said it, I'm not ashamed to admit it and I feel so much better for it. I've been reading since I was little. Comic books, Hardy Boys, Encyclopedia Brown, The Great Brain, Westerns, Science Fiction, Whodunits, Adventure, at one point I was bored and Harlequin Romances, War stories, Novels, Poetry...did I mention I like to read? If it wasn't for pesky ole law school, I would still be reading at a pace of a few books a month. So every now and then, I think I'm gonna review a book. My way of course.

When someone gives you something to read, not a pamphlet or an article, but a book or something of substance it means two things. One, it means they figure that you're reasonably intelligent and will understand or take enjoyment in the reading and Two, that you're actually going to read it. My little brother gave me a book this year for Christmas. I gave him an iPod. I figure we're about equal. But then just the other day Sporty mailed me a book.

One of the things I've always liked about Sporty is that she is a reader. I am stunned at the number of folks I meet, talk to and associate with who haven't picked up a book since the last time a class imposed that duty upon them. And of those who do read, a good number disappoint when I find out they only read "black" literature. Um..., I am black, I don't need to read about the black experience, I'm having the black experience. Okay, a little Walter Mosley from time to time, but not a whole whole lot more.

The book she sent was The Shack, a story of spiritual awakening and personal redemption. If you haven't read it, the story is about a man who has lost a child and is enmeshed in sadness. Then one weekend, he gets a note from God asking him to stop by. Thinking himself crazy he shows up and meets God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit, who turn out to be a old black woman, her Arabic son and an Asian woman, in that order. Not quite was he expecting. What follows after is the meat of the story, his conversations with what appear to be the Holy Trinity and his own personal growth and examination of his own viewpoints . He weekends with God, I mean, how's that for bragging rights?

I read it in one sitting. Okay, in one day...I actually did do some work on my paper, er..brief.

From the blurbs on the back, I expected to moved to tears or re-awakened in my soul or something else epiphanic. It was a good story don't' get me wrong. It had some moments that made you re-read a paragraph or two and made you think about some things, always a sign of good writing, and it certainly gave me a new way to look at some other religious concepts. But it wasn't earth shattering for me. My paradigm didn't shift. I may read it again to make sure I didn't miss anything. The ending was kinda cliche, a little telegraphed I must say, but by then you'd gotten most of the message, so you kind of needed it for wrap up. If it that ending hadn't occurred, what preceded it might have come off a little less spiffy.

Would I suggest it for a read? Sure.

Hey Barkeep, what kinda smoothies you got?

Recognize

There was an old woman who lived in a house in the woods way out in the country. She'd been there most of her life, she'd raised her children there, watched her husband die there, and lived. A devout woman, she had taken great care to give the glories to the lord her whole life, and instill it in her children and people around her.

As bad weather approached, one afternoon a truck drives into her yard. A young man gets out and approaches her as she sits on her porch.

"Ma'am, the weather is looking bad, and your house is in the middle of the flood plain. We've come down to help. We'll load up all your stuff and take it to higher ground for you so it will be safe."

"No, no need. I've lived here a long time. I'm not worried. The lord will take care of me." She answered

The young man begged and pleaded for an hour, but the old woman refused to go. Finally, he got back in the truck and left.

A few days later the rains came. The sky opened up and water seemed to pour from the sky in great sheets. The walls on the old woman's house shook with the force of it. She sat in her parlor and by candlelight read the bible.

Sitting on a flood plain, the waters came. First puddles, then a even sheet, until finally it was lapping at the last step to the porch. The old woman sat on the porch watching the droplets when a boat came into view and headed over to her. A man called out from the bow.

"Ma'am, the weather is getting worse, and the water is going to keep rising. Get your valuables together, put them in a suitcase and we'll take you to safety."

"No need, I'm not worried. The lord will take care of me." She called out.

The man on the boat begged her to come, but she refused. Finally, afraid the boat would get waterlogged they left.

And more rains came. The old woman read the bible and prayed. And soon the house flooded, and the water still came. And the waters rose and rose until finally, the old woman sat in a raincoat on her roof, a bible and book of memories clutched to her chest. She prayed.

Out of the rainclouds she heard a noise. She looked up and descending from above was a helicopter. It lowered a harness on a cable and on a loudspeaker a man shouted down to her.

"Ma'am, we've come to rescue you. You can't take anything with you, but you climb into the harness, we'll take you to safety."

"No need, the lord will take care of me!" She shouted back in the din.

Running low on fuel, the helicopter waited a few minutes, then the wheeled away and disappeared into the clouds.

The rains continued to fall, the water continued to rise and until, soaked and cold, the old woman died.

She arrived in heaven upset. She asked to speak to God personally, and the lord was only to swift to listen. She approached him hot, and let her feelings be known. "God, I believed in you, I trusted you, and yet you failed me. You let me die in the cold waters of the flood. I devoted my life to you, not just every Sunday but everyday. Instilled your word in my children and lived by your teachings. How could leave me lord?"

God looked at her puzzled. "But I sent a truck, a boat and a helicopter. Why didn't you take one?"

So, the question we need to ask is: when the lord sends you help, sends your blessing...will you recognize it?

Conservations with God

I'm on my couch, the jazz playing in a dark room as this conversation begins like so many others. The jazz has no words, so no loose ideas penetrate. My conversation fills the space, but no sound other than Charlie Parker's horn is heard. I can feel the vibration of the world.

It's usually dark when I talk to him, as though the night hides his form as he listens to my story, a story he already knows. The music plays, the lazy melodies of jazz or the point and counterpoint of classical soothe my the fine cracks in my soul. I ask the questions I've asked a million times, on a thousand nights, sober and with my brain wrapped in the fumes of fine spirits, hoping the answers will hit me as an epiphany and sweep away the pain and explain the past, explain me.

They never come.

People tell me God gives you no more than you can handle. And though my journey has been blessed, there are nights when I felt as alone as anyone in the world. Nights I wanted to curl up and let go of reality.

I want to believe God answers in his own way. The random of the world shaping my outcomes, so that when I flip that mental coin he has his fingers in the grooves, pushing it so that I make his decision. Sometimes it's a song I haven't heard in ages or a book I never would have read that looks like the message, but I don't know if I even have the sight to see the answer even if it were handed to me. I might be deluding myself into thinking I'm important enough to warrant response.

The mood of my conversation is somber. Cries for clarity really, as we re-hash the past and all the decisions made, good or bad, right or wrong. Opportunities not missed, but laid aside. Moments that I wish I could have again if only one time. I pull the cushion closer, against the chill and the loneliness that causes the need for this dialogue with my creator to exist.

Sometimes I'm clear eyed. Sometimes the tears well in my eyes and fight to hold them in, afraid to let out the emotion that I've oh so carefully hidden away, for fear that it might consume me, cripple me. Sometimes I can feel the empty in my chest, like my soul has left me hollow as it goes in search of resolution. Sometimes it's like I'm talking to an old friend, who will listen just because I need to talk.

Why? Why not me? Why not now? Why did it have to be this way? Am I not worthy? Am I not good enough? Why in the grand scheme of things was this that felt so right not to be? And if not this, then what? The questions fade into gibberish most times, as prayer or sleep or whatever slides over me. Sometimes it's a chat, other times it's hours later I realize that I've been unmoving as I search into the ether for answers. One day I hope to be refreshed by the experience, but for now the sound in my own soul echos.

The music still plays now, piano with a lively tempo. The room seems colder and I wonder how many songs have played, how much time has passed this time. I've been talking, speaking, asking for two days and it feels like I just started a few seconds ago.

Maybe God wants me to stop talking.

What I Learned This Year - 2007

With apologies to Esquire, from whom I shamelessly have "paraphrased" this concept I'm going to start annually listing what I learned from the previous years here. Hopefully you'll read them and gain a modicum of knowledge, insight and understanding...and in a slow moment or two I'll re-read them and not repeat the same mistake twice.

I'm fairly certain that in a few years when I'm chronicled in that august periodical, i can refer back to this entry as my first baby steps at philosophy.

Good isn't the same as popular.
God has a really weird sense of humor. Sometimes it's the only explanation.
People who care are concerned all the time, not just when you're in trouble, or it's convenient.
Love is funny. If I didn't think it was funny I'd be dead by now.
I'm surprised at the things that hurt me. Sometimes it's as little as the wrong word at the wrong time, or a bad concept, and those pains are few and far between. But when things hurt I need the world to stop for while, because they hurt bad.
I'm normally a very private person.
People tell me I'm a good listener, but that's usually so I don't have to talk about me.
I'm responsible for 95% of things that fuck up in my life. The other 5% is fate, but I'm working on that.
I've have three women propose marriage to me on four occasions. I should said yes to one them.
I don't like to give advice, because I then feel responsible. I prefer to ask you the questions you should be asking yourself, then you can reach your own decision.
Nothing is more painful loving someone who doesn't love you back...but then still wants to be friends.
It's not what you said, it's what they heard. It's not what you did, it's what they saw.
The secret to life is to finish what you started. I must have a half dozen half finished projects. If I can get one done I will have beat the world.
Real love doesn't' stop. It can't end. It can suppressed, ignored, subverted, denied...but it's always going to be there.
Sometimes you need to choose the next best option.
Some of my happiest moments of late have been sitting with my grandmother.


Barkeep...a Bookers. No ice.