End of the Road

“Did I give in too much, or was it never enough?”

            -Wooly, Breathe Carolina

                Can you give up too much? Can you invest too much of yourself in something? Isn’t that passion, though? Putting your very heart and soul into a life style, shedding sweat and tears for a belief. You give everything for your passion, and thus you become defined by your passion.

                I dedicated my life to this, not knowing where it would take me. It was an incredible journey. A painful, magnificent one that has left me in awe. It was like a hike through a grand wilderness, in search of something unexplainable, following footsteps barely discernible. I knew this was taking me somewhere, and the journey forged me into a new man. Yet years in, one day I found myself standing at a cliff, the ocean churning far below. It was a beautiful vista, with the most brilliant sunset across the most breath-taking horizon. But there were no more footsteps. Was this the end of the road? Or was I supposed to jump? I don’t know.

                So I turned away, for I was not willing to give up everything to drown at the bottom of some shore or to sail off into the sunset. I want something else. Something more for me. Now it is some time later, and I stand somewhere else.

                I wonder to myself, did I wear myself out? Can you be too passionate about something? Can you give up too much of yourself for someone? Cause I did.

                But was it enough? Was everything I gave enough, or was the cost greater than what I could give? The cost always required more, as all passions do. You must continuously feed your passions, and like an addiction, they must be fed more and more if you wish them to burn brighter and spread farther. My identity has been forged by my burning passion. And now, as I turn my back on this passion, do I deny myself, or was my passion already forcing me to deny myself? These are too many questions.

                All I know is that I am pursing a new path, and I hope to create a more free identity. I already feel I have become a more joyful, more powerful version of myself. I choose my way, and though trials may hit me, I am finding a way to be content with all things. I change what I want and what I can. When I choose not to change something, I am learning to accept this. When I cannot change something, I am learning to accept this. When I want to change something, I am learning to take this.

                I choose a road that does not end today. I choose to pave my own way, altering the path I walk depending on what I want and what I am willing to commit. We all only have one shot at this life. This is a “once and done” deal. So I choose to live my life the way I deem to. It may not be the brightest, but it is mine. 

For every road that ends, another may just begin. 

The Burning of Alexithymia

The Library of Alexandria was one of the most significant and largest libraries in the ancient world, dedicated to the arts and scholarship.Though it is contested what led to the incident, or how many times it occurred, the Royal Library of Alexandria was eventually completely destroyed by 391 AD. So much knowledge and beauty was lost in these burnings. So many stories to tell, lost forever.

For those unaware of what Alexithymia is, I will define the medical condition simply. Derived from the greek, the word translated means no words for emotions. (A=lack, lexis=word, thymos=emotions). To my understanding, in the psychiatric world it is a construct rather than a diagnosis to characterize patients who appear unable to express their thoughts and emotions, and are thus unable to describe what they feel to others. When a Patient has no story to tell.

Maybe I have Alexithymia, maybe not; though I read that about 10% of the general pop has it. it is more about the concept. As mentioned in my first post “To breathe Aether”, I have always felt unable to express myself, which has often led me to not try. This blog is my attempt at Burning my Alexithymia.

But the phrase is paradoxical, for it implies the reference of the Burning of the Library of Alexandria. The Library was a wealth of achievement from men and women, authors taking their thoughts, emotions, and knowledge, and with this aether from the clouds of their mind they transferred it to the physical realm upon ink and paper. However, ultimately, for unknown reasons, these writings were eventually lost to fire.

The paradoxical phrase is a two sided coin. By revealing the truths of our mind, do we inevitably destroy them? By bringing perfect concepts to reality, do we then burn them to the ground? By sharing with other people what is truly within our heart and mind, do we lose the unspoken connection we have with them? 

I do not know the answer. 

But either way, here is my Alexandria.

*Callus and Ink

                “Death is the road to awe.”

                The first time I ever saw Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain, I sat on a futon couch, with my cute, spunky high-school sweetheart cuddling up next to me in the dark, us only illuminated by the flickering screen’s light. It must have been early 2007, my senior year of high school. The film is a multi-layered, allegorical story of a doctor (Hugh Jackman) trying to save his dying wife (Rachel Weis) with the miraculous substance of a dead tree. It is probably the most confusing, complex film I’ve ever seen, and I remember my girlfriend and I just stared at the screen after it had ended, completely dumbfounded and intoxicated by its emotional, intricate story. We talked about it for days, watching it multiple times, wrestling through what it meant. Years later, it would still be my favorite film.

There’s one scene that always stuck with me the most. Earlier in the film, Hugh had lost his wedding ring before a medical procedure. No matter what he did, he couldn’t find the ring. And her condition worsens, sending her to the hospital. One night, he sits on their bed alone, next to the nightstand where the unfinished book she was writing in calligraphy ink rests.  In his grief, he stares at his hand, the imprint of the lost wedding ring fading from his finger. He takes the sharp calligraphy pen, and begins to stab his finger. He unbearably sobs, slowly mixing blood and ink, trying desperately to keep the imprint. It was torturous, this sorrow and love. It got under my skin.

                There are a handful of moments in our lives that are defining, altering experiences that send ripples throughout the very fiber of your being for years to come. Looking back on my younger years, I recognize one of the most impactful moments was when I decided to start having sex. Highschool sweetheart, of course. I'm a walking cliché. But to be totally honest, it wasn’t the action that affected me so greatly, but rather the emotional reason behind the decision.

Anyone that is close to me knows this. It wasn’t just the act of having sex that changed me. We were young. We felt in love with each other. Truly. Deeply. And she wanted to share a part of herself with me. An intimate first. Though she grew up agnostic, I grew up raised under Christianity. By late high school, I had stopped practicing most of the commands of the religion. Though I still saw the basic core of Christianity to be this perfect ideal, it was just that: an ideal, unattainable. Yet still, for me, I wanted to save sex for marriage. I wanted to share that gift with only one person. So every time she asked me if I would have sex with her, I would deny her. I defended something that was very important to me, and she was hurt by it. So one day, she phrased the question just right: “How do I know you love me if you won’t do this with me?” And my defenses came crumbling down. I wanted to prove my love for her, so I compromised my core value, and I gave up what I wanted for what she wanted.

It was that compromise that affected me so. It was that emotional decision that ultimately led to my bitterness and the destruction that came of our relationship. For what had been a relationship of sharing ourselves and accepting each other quickly became a selfish tug of war, confused by sexual tension and the fallout upon our social lives. And with everything that the religious communities believed and had taught me about the evils of pre-marital sex, the guilt became unbearable for me. It was the guilt that destroyed me. For by this action, I compromised who I was, and instead took a new identity. I saw myself as a monster.

                And ever since then, everything I have done, has either been out of punishing myself, seeking penance, running from the past, or trying to reinvent myself. My days after graduation were filled with partying and drinking. I would admire women, yet I was far too scared and consumed by guilt to pursue anything, so I became addicted to pornography and masturbation (I was late to the game). In community college I made a new friend, a gay, wanna-be gansta who brought joy and spontaneity into my life. Yet at late hours, I could see past his over abounding laughter to see that we were both broken, lonely souls, lost in the night. For many seasons I abandoned church, but the guilt was too unbearable, so I returned to church, and sat in the back row for more than a year, judging every person in the congregation, my only way of coping with my own self-hatred.

A tall, animated girl from the church became my admirer. With her unconditional love combined with the congregations’ acceptance of me into the community, I was slowly wooed back to Christianity, but this time it was a far more relational one. Jesus was far more real to me than ever before, as I slowly found freedom from all the flat doctrines and regulations in favor of a more spiritually healing experience. I committed my life to dying for Christ’s way, the road to awe. It was a book written by an artisan Christian based in Los Angeles that built up in me the courage to risk pursuing my life-long dream of working in film production, and so all alone, I moved down to Northridge. Upon my second day at CSUN, I met the Intervarsity community, and instantly found a family of friends like I had never seen before.

After a semester of just having fun with these friends, I recognized that it was time to become serious about my life [and faith]. After hanging out with a curvy, bubbly lassie who admitted her interest in me, I stepped back out of fear of ruining another relationship, and instead became close friends with a stocky, theatrical  lad, and we partnered up to help each other become “pure”. Though this goal didn't ultimately stick, our deep friendship helped me process through much of my unconscious hang-ups, from fears, to anger [towards my parents’ struggling marriage], to my lifelong shame, self-hatred, and self-sabotaging behavior. After a semester of running from my emotions, ignoring my parents and my close friend while instead venting to a sonsie, outspoken miss  and a short, quick-witted gal, I finally took responsibility and confronted the areas in my life I felt conflict.

I was quickly faced with trials that shook me to the core, such as having to call the police on a dear friend to save her life, to being diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that was killing me. For a time, I felt that I was paying penance for the crimes I had committed towards my loved ones. Yet I was aided by my incredible sister and loving parents, along with my friends helping me adapt to being “sanctified” by this new dietary lifestyle. During this time I felt I was on a reconciliatory journey with many of my friends. Some were restored and others… not so much. I dove into the social justice world, becoming greatly involved in the fight against human and sex trafficking, partnered with one of my friends, yet once again I came to realize that a huge subconscious motivator of mine was seeking of atonement for my past. All the while, I was seeking to understand spirituality more profoundly with the help of a tall, expressive gent, and eventually delving deep into a pursuit of a revived, holistic Christianity with a sturdy, controversial chap as we attempted to create a neomonastic community of guys founded on prayer. But after returning from a powerful conference at the end of that year, this experiment seemed to fade away, and I did not return the same man.

With my final semester in college, I finally allowed myself to pursue dating again as my interest in a shapely, caring woman grew. Amidst the months before and after graduation, the two of us dated, and it was truly liberating. However, post-graduation weighed heavy on me, as I felt I was aimlessly wandering through a desert. I was grieved over how easily I could leave the community I loved and yet feel not missed, and I was made bitter and cynical by my uncertainty with which career direction I was being “called” to. I concluded our dating, realizing I had some more self-discovery to do. Since then, I have wrestled with myself, starving in this desert. But upon New Year’s Eve, I saw a prophetic promise that I would concretely be sanctified. I would be “set apart”. However, I decided to do what Christians have always done best: taken another’s (pagan cultures) ideas, flipped them upside down, thus reinventing them and making them their own.

Since then, things have been different. I have begun to pursue the things I have wanted, and in the last three months I've been happier and more content and more successful than I ever have been before. Along with this, I've been able to spend countless days hanging with my herculean, fiery guy friend and his breathtaking beast of a brother, learning to just enjoy life.

               

                It has been nearly seven years. Though The Fountain is no longer my favorite film, it still deeply impacts me. I have been evolving and changing since that time period in my life. I do not hold the same core values that I did seven years ago, let alone a year ago. This entire journey has been about me trying to accept myself despite my compromising behaviors. I've always given so much, trying to be so selfless and denying my selfishness, yet this only hurts me and others in the long run.  Though compromise is important, we mustn't compromise who we are at the core. So who am I?

This is what I've been setting out to discover. But I've slowly learned that you cannot define yourself by comparing or contrasting yourself to someone else. You mustn’t define yourself off of other peoples’ expectations or desires of you, or else you will lose yourself. For when you lose yourself, when you stand six feet under looking up to someone above you for acceptance, you become your own worst enemy. You become your monster under the bed, a destructive nemesis buried deep within.

                So, over the last two years, I’ve been inching toward this decision. To put to rest the monster in my head, tearing my world apart. I’ve desperately tried to go as deep as I could in this walk, but the deeper I’ve gone, the more I find that this walk was showing me as the monster. I was the sin eater. But the truth is… our greatest flaws are not crimes we've committed, but the self-convictions of the crimes.

 I think I am broken, therefore I am.

                With such a deep love for the ancient movement of following Jesus of Nazareth, I wrote my story upon my skin, just like the doctor in The Fountain wrote his suffering with his own blood and ink. He could not let go of his love, but more so he could not let go of his guilt, carving it deep so that his scars would remind him that his shame was real. A twisted sort of penance.

But the ring is lost. And now I’m just left with my callus and ink. And I want to tell a new story. One where I am not the monster, the one holding himself from feeling joy and hope and thrill for achieving what I want. I don’t want to wake up in the morning feeling like I am not who I am supposed to be. That I’m not good enough yet. That I have to do more. I just want to be me. So, I’m taking a break from Christianity. I am taking a break from God. I have for a while now. I thought you should know.  And I’m going to figure out who I am, apart from anyone’s’ expectations of me. I’m going to be selfish. Which I don’t think is necessarily a bad thing anymore. Time will heal and fade these scars. And after many years, maybe you won’t recognize me. Maybe you will. 

What You See Is Not What You Get

To: Reader

            What you see is just the surface. We interpret the world through what we see, basing conclusions about people from their appearance. From what we see and hear. These impressions are the first and last things we found our realities on. Though these perceptions may be just the surface, they actually become the most penetrating. Surface value is our deepest value.

            Gossip is the natural expression of community. It is how a group of people share knowledge, interpretation, and opinions. When people talk, rumors spread. Whether straight from the horse’s mouth, or from someone’s assumptions spilling out into the public arena, gossip is a huge part to do with these surface values. The pool gets murkier though, as the assembly gathers around the crier to get the perceived inside scoop.

            The truth is lost in the echo. The signal-to-noise ratio isn’t high enough. For even if the gossip and rumors are true, they quickly can become skewed. For the error is in the perceiver. The eyes of every individual of the community can only see so many dimensions of the truth, for they see the world through their limited, biased view. You see, the words you hear mean something different to you than they do to me. You may listen, but you may not hear. You interpret my message through your perception, and your perception is altered by your opinions, which are a byproduct of your self-reflection.

            Like a game of Telephone, the message is lost somewhere along the line. Communication fails because you hear only what you want to hear. You see the distraction, but not your blind spot. You see through your eyes, but you cannot see any vantage point of yourself. So what you see, everything you hear, is an attempt to fill in these blanks. To fill in what you can’t see. Yourself. And yet, what you can’t see, is exactly what is the center of your attention. You. So though I my say the words about myself, you perceive them about yourself. This misunderstanding means you’ll miss the message. If we’re lucky, you’re trying to understand the original author’s or subject’s meaning.

            So, what we see is not what we get. For what we see is just the surface. Just the first impression. Just how things appear. Just what we perceive. Just hearsay. Just a message passed down by word of mouth, misinterpreted by viewers focused on themselves. Because once the first impression is made, the surface value becomes the defining impression we perceive about the one the message is supposed to be about.

            Next time you hear something about someone, confirm it with the source. Because even when you’re looking right into the eyes of the source, like staring into the surface of a pool, do not forget the danger of your shallow eyes.

            You might see your reflection instead.

Message: Perceived?

To breathe Aether

“Man’s reach exceeds his grasp”

                -Nikola Tesla, The Prestige

Communication. The greatest struggle in life is taking the thoughts from your mind, forming the words to express the ideas verbally, and being articulate enough for another person to intake them, and then mentally process them. We are fortunate if there is any understanding achieved.

Thoughts are like the Aether, the air of the gods, too high up to reach. But if you could reach, could you grasp it? Could you scoop up a handful, and could you pull this heavenly element down to earth? And if so, could you keep it here without it floating away?

So, normally I don't take the time to share my thoughts. There's too much that can go wrong. From me failing to understand my own thoughts, to not using the right words in expressing, to the person hearing misinterpreting, to the ideas being altered within the confines of another person's mind, to how people may react and how these reactions will affect and alter my world. My ideas are only kept safe and pure within my mind. So I keep them there.

It has been awhile since I have blogged. I journal, but I normally keep these writings to my self. The most untainted, nearly perfectly articulated texts of mine. However, I have been going through immense changes in my life, and I have no idea where these changes will lead me, but I don't want to leave behind the people I love while on this journey. And the only way I can make sure that doesn't happen is to share with you where I'm at, when I'm there.

So here goes.