BlackHope

Mon Jun 15

Little Lights

Little Lights

                Was he supposed to have kissed her? 

It was 2:37 a.m. and he was in his car listening but not really listening to his favorite Decemberists album.  “And I will hang my head, hang my head low.”  The chorus filled the vehicle and without him knowing it the words filled the boy’s mind.                                                                                                                     

They had danced.  She had put on nice clothes, a wonderful smell, made her hair curly or wavy or something.  He wasn’t sure what you’d call what she had done to her hair.  Pretty, he thought.  If she hadn’t made her hair curly or wavy she had done something to make it even more pretty, that he knew.  He knew that better than he knew there was a God.  And he believed in God!  Perhaps more now than ever.  Such pretty hair… he had touched it.                                                                                 

The chorus returned, “And I will hang my head, hang my head low.”          

Lights passed him by.  Somewhere between a dozen and a trillion little lights, some street lamps, some domestic window lights, but most of these lights, he noted, were stars, all passing by far above.  Seemingly motionless…  Even if I stopped my car this instant they’d be gone by morning, he thought.  Everything flew by.  There was no stopping it.                                                

Had she expected a kiss?  Had she prepared for one?  Best not to wonder about it.  The fact was he had had a wonderful night and he was fairly sure that she had enjoyed herself too.  But don’t kisses happen on wonderful nights?      

More lights passed.                                                                        

 Now he was getting distracted.  Could one really count all missed opportunities?  What would be the point?  To ensure that one wouldn’t miss anything the next time around?  Perhaps.                 

“And I will hang my head, hang my head low.”                                               

He sighed deeply.  Would he have to plan this?  Plan a time and place to kiss her?  How silly, he thought, but a smile crept up on his face.  How new this all was!  How awkwardly he would hug her, but how comfortable they felt together.  How his hand on hers would surprise him!  He wouldn’t plan the kiss, he knew then.  But he was smiling.  He was smiling because he knew that the kiss would come, even without a plan it would come, and he wouldn’t when and he wouldn’t know how.  And when it came he wouldn’t pass it by.                                                                       

 He slowed down.  He drove home carefully, safely because life was precious.  He drove with his head held high.  Little lights were everywhere.

Fri Jan 23

The Kiss I must have been twenty years old, because I learned to drive just before turning 21 and this all happened before I knew how to drive. My good friend Melissa had decided to come to church with me before her shift at Tony Roma’s. She picked me up and we went to the little church on 6th street, just six blocks away from the Santa Monica coast. There were very little secrets between us and she knew, because I had let her know this in great detail as often as I had breath, that I held deep affection for her. In fact I had even confessed to some fantasies involving her that would make us all blush and perhaps feel a little embarrassed to be human if I were to go into them. And though my feelings for her were both flattering and strengthening she had chosen a mutual friend as her boyfriend, a boy named Kaveh. The three of us got along well and we spent our days together when ever we could, but inside me was a well of rejection and longing that grew deeper and deeper as the relationship moved on. I had not relinquished one once of my affection even though the pain of unrequited love continued and continued. I loved this girl and that was that! I had conviction back then! And I refused to distance myself from her a single whit, on the contrary I moved toward her as best as I could manage. Well, on this day at church subtle bits of my fantasies seemed to be coming true. Melissa would sit, oh, so close to me, and sometimes her leg would be right up against mine, sometimes nearly wrapped around it! And it was just wonderful! After the second church meeting she had to go to work. I went with her in the car to show her the way to the freeway entrance, and once she knew the way she took me quickly back to the church. It was on the way back to the church where she would drop me off when she said these tantalizing words. “I’ve been thinking of something for a couple days…” “Yeah? What’s that?” I said. “Oh, no, I shouldn’t tell you.” Something in the way she said it made my heart flutter. “Why not?” “Because it, it just might confuse you” “Well, you’ve got to tell me now! You can’t start off like that and not finish.” “No, it’ll be bad.” “Not as bad as not knowing. I’ll go crazy!” I said. She said nothing until the car was parked. “Okay. I’ve been thinking about kissing you these last few days.” I only remember a hot melting feeling. If I said anything I couldn’t tell you what. But I basked in that moment, sometimes I go back and bask in it some more. What happened next is controversial. Some say I was the biggest fool there ever was and others say I was noble. I think I was both but I know that if I wasn’t those things I was at the least scared. A discussion of kissing then and there sprouted from Melissa’s confession. “Should we kiss?” Those couldn’t have been the exact words but she said something to the affect. Smiling weakly and perhaps with a strange snicker I said, “What about Kaveh?” She told me not to think about Kaveh, that they were on a “break”. Laughing I told her she and Kaveh took “breaks” everyday from noon till three. She took a bit of offence from that and offered some sort of rebuttal which I ignored. We stayed in the car together for some time playing with the whole idea. She would lean in ask me if I wanted to kiss her. “Yes,” I would say, yes yes yes! But each time we came close I refused to kiss her astonished that I would not live my ever frequent dream of doing just that. But I sensed that it would be wrong, that it would damage the relationship she had with Kaveh (I hardly thought the disclaimer about the “break” was a justified deal breaker). Melissa too seemed surprised by my “yes I want to; no I won’t” answers to the question of kissing her. And though it had all started as speculation my refusals seemed to drive a sharpened desire in her to perform the deed. She would squirm sweetly in her seat and give funny little girlish pouts, then smile brightly and bat her eyes. The whole act was so contrived and so abundantly over played that we both laughed at ourselves until she must have been late for work. I eventually left the car and just to tease her went to her window and made out with the glass. She frantically tried to unroll the window to reach my lips without obstacle but her efforts lacked the necessary speed, my reflexes being far faster than that of a lowering car window. Before the glass made it halfway down I was stepping onto the sidewalk my back facing her, a gigantic smile hidden from her view. I continued to love her for a long time after that, and even now there are times when the members of my psyche call a board meeting to discuss whether or not I am still in love with Melissa. Most members agree that I am not, but a small minority shake their heads or roll their eyes from time to time sideways grins on their faces. The board member always decide that Melissa and I are awesome friends who have a fun and intimate relationship, but beyond that… we can’t say. But I have never kissed her. I have never kissed anyone yet. I am now 25 years old and looking back it is hard to say if I did the ethical thing. At first glance I would declare, “Of course I did the right thing! What a grand display of restraint and noble consideration for my friends!” I didn’t disregard Kaveh, I didn’t let Melissa cheat. But now I see a common pattern at play in all my relationships (or potential ones) and wonder if I didn’t cheat myself out of something I had greatly desired. Melissa was all I had wanted, at age 20 she was my world, but I didn’t want to step on some toes to get it. I had assumed Kaveh had thought and felt for her what I did. But if that wasn’t so… Now I am still afraid to connect with people. I am afraid to kiss! I mustn’t step out of bounds! I fear to let myself win over anybody! I seem unable to grab what I want. I’m still left dreaming, fantasizing, and imagining intimacy without ever grasping it. Had I kissed the girl I had dreamed of kissing I might have become a man who goes for what he wants instead of pushing his desires away. Perhaps I would have known that dreams can become a reality. As for now I dwell in that realm of silly regret and mystery, where I have been since that day, where I am comfortable. But I still wonder if dreams might be better than what could have been, after all dreams once realized can be broken but dreams held above reality stay beautiful forever.

Sat Dec 13
Earth stands not between Heaven and Hell. It is Hell that stands between Heaven and Earth. Michael Fairchild
Thu Dec 11
It will awaken you.  Listen and don’t go back to sleep!

It will awaken you.  Listen and don’t go back to sleep!

I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now? Blackhope says: I believe in two realties. The objective and the individual. Writing something off as ‘not real’ often tries to express some measure of unimportance. But if it can influence our interaction with the objective it becomes a part of reality. Consider these: Sense- physical perception Intuition- unconscious perception Thought- intillectual cognition Feeling- emotional cognition Individual reality are measured on these… And individuals exist inside the objective.

John Lennon (via cuckoocuckoo)

——————————————————-

Is that which we classify “the real” something that exists solely in the mind, solely independent from the mind, or both? I agree with Lennon, yet I also recall the argument St. Anselm of Canterbury sets forth; one who posits that “the real” is both mind dependent and mind-independent (e.g. subjective and objective).

That which is greater, however, is that which exists not only in the mind (and its fabulous concoctions such as fairies, pink unicorns, the flying spaghetti monster and God), but also that which extends from the mind (e.g. mountains, record tables, plastic cartridges and arguably God).

If God extends from the mind (which is to say, God exists independent of whether human faculties perceive him), by what means are we, humans, able to confirm his existence in the mind?

Given Anselm’s definition of God (e.g. that which nothing can be greater; that which is perfect), to say that we can confirm God’s existence in a human mind begs the question: “Is an imperfect, fallible human mind capable of confirming that which is perfect and infallible?”

If the answer is no, we live in a transient, exotic world and are like pieces of a puzzle that never get solved; like chapters of a book that never get finished; like meals we slave away our life to create but never eat.

If the answer is yes, then we have a lot of explaining to do.

I think the answer is yes and no.

If we say “yes,” we must then ask the question: “To what extent are we correctly identifying God’s nature in our minds?” I will assume that we all have both correct and incorrect understandings of His nature, or at least parts of it; but a partial understanding of God is not nearly as great as a perfect, or complete understanding of God.

I think Hegel was wrong when positing: “We don’t know anything unless we know everything; and because we’ll never know everything we can’t know anything.”

His argument attempts to veraciously speak on behalf of all world-views as being unable to assert knowledge of any kind, when in actually it is he who has refused yet simultaneously relied upon the packets of knowledge that increased his utility in his own life (i.e. his understanding of knowing why not to jump off cliffs).

In other words, just because we haven’t learned everything there is to know about the puzzle of life, let alone God, ought not to ever suggest that there are some things we do know. Knowledge, after all, comes in small packets and has always been an evolutionary process. A mere study in mathematics should convince us of this much.

That is to say, just because we don’t understand the truths of calculus doesn’t mean we don’t understand the basic truths of arithmetic, or, in an even worse and spontaneous conclusion derive that they don’t exist whatsoever. For those who find arithmetic boring, the same will often damn themselves from learning the higher truths of arithmetic.

I use the word “damn” to suggest a literal stoppage, or refusal to learn more about such truths. But this shouldn’t suggest that there are those who do know the higher truths of such things; whether they be arithmetic, science, pottery, computer design or God.

Why exclude God under the same logic? Can He be rationally excluded under the same logic? Would it not be one of the greatest adventures to to solicit one’s time to; an adventure that reveals his character line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little, there a little?

I think we damn ourselves from learning more about Him because we think we’ve learned and understood enough to satiate our curiosity regarding His nature. Often, that curiosity becomes mostly, if not completely dissatisfied when we reason together what has been said to be God’s word, let alone nature.

No one, it would seem, has a good enough answer.

But shouldn’t that beg the question: “Why do we believe, and may I dare say, accept, the words or interpretations of what others have come to believe and accept about God?”

Their testimonies are not our testimonies—we’ve all had different experiences with God; some likable and others not.

Why are we not, then, finding out who or what God is by our own investigation?

While I do not mean to deflate another’s testimony of God, I will say that another’s testimony, while good in as much to the extent that it leads me to create my own, will not, however, be reliable enough for me to lean upon the rest of my life. I cannot live off borrowed light.

If I believe in God, it must be personal.

It must be how I interpret him.

It must cycle out the parts that seem contradictory, and desperately work to reconcile those contradictions within myself; because from my understanding of God, he cannot be a contradictory entity.

Do I understand God?

In some ways yes, in other ways no.

The mere fact that I do not understand God completely is proof that I am worshipping a some-what counterfeit God; but God (the real God, whoever he is) understands this, and so his mercy makes up the difference between what I am capable of understanding, and what I am not.

His mercy makes up the difference between my fallible mind and his infallible mind. His mercy makes up the difference between preserving that which I have correctly identified in Him, and that which he helps cycle out of my beliefs that are incorrect.

It is in my opinion that we are all, to some extent, worshipping counterfeit Gods and idols, and some arguably more than others. Some may not even use the label “god” to describe what they worship, or devote their time to (and rightfully so; for the mere label “god” is only a term used to describe a seemingly ineffable entity).

Some may worship “open mindedness,” others “charity,” and others even still: both.

Therefore, a counterfeit God is one that is in any form less than that which a perfect God wouldn’t be. But to suppose all this only brings us back to where we started:

That the fallibility of the human mind interpreting such profound entities/concepts such as “God” will be experienced uniquely and individually by most who come into this life.

Since it seems we can’t step outside our own biological make-up, we must make a choice.

1). We blame our make-up and its imperfections, claiming, as did Hegel, that we can’t know anything because we can’t know everything.

2). We patiently, humbly and faithfully search for God between the lines; for tokens (i.e. evidences) are given to those who seek, ask, knock.

—all or any other choice possibilities are welcomed—

These are the two that first came to my mind

(DMS)

(via donamajicshow)
Wed Dec 10

Stale Mate vs.

I feel now that it is time to make mistakes.  Perhaps some very big ones, but let us start off small.  Give me some practice.  All I know is that I haven’t been going anywhere for some time now because I am terrified of the mistakes I am bound to make.  Surely I hold some pretense that I must act upon if only to learn of its mendacity.  But I fear my own bad choices… and thus have stopped acting all together.  Here is where I can now make a move, learn from my current mistake of not taking chances, and start acting.  I know life, God, or the great cosmos will very well let me fall on my face but whether my actions and decisions bring me up or down I find protection of my soul in the idea of learning.  Not unlike repentance, this ability to learn must give me courage to look the social fool, for now I am only a social coward and it is in my heart to condemn the latter with greater severity.  May I ascend to the heights of understanding and light!  But whether I ascend or descend it is in keeping ‘the moral obligation’, to learn from my actions and express what I have gained from the heights or depths, that will save my soul.  I do not express being saved from fire and brimstone but from a hell of repetitive false logic.  Natrual hell: stagnation.  For I am tired of the purgatory in which I currently find myself.  I must fall to fly, or at least learn to fly.  Progression means failure until… 

Let’s finish that sentence together.  I may step out of place, I may be a fool, but I’m sick of fear ruling the game.  My life does not belong to fear, nor does yours!  We must all acknowledge our ability to learn.  If we do that going backwards will become impossible and falling down will only bring us up.

My Goodbye Story (2005)

I gave her this story I wrote not too long ago. And I told her what it was about. She didn’t really like it, but I think she understood why I wrote it.
I was sitting at her sister’s desk at her home when I finished it. And just as I had written the last words Melissa walked in and curiously smiled at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh… I just finished a story.”
“Hmm… is it about us?”
“Yes. It is.” I smiled. “Of course.”
“What happens in it?”
“Well, I die in a car crash and my spirit helps you out of the car and tells you to live your life!”
“Oh.” Melissa sounded disappointed.
“What? What’s wrong with that? I think it’s great!”
“It’s sad…”


My Goodbye Story
By Michael Faichild

It was nobody’s fault. It was raining hard, visibility was low, and everyone agrees that Sunset Blvd. has windy sections of road. What happened has happened and now nothing can take it back. But I do believe that these things happen for a reason. Maybe to test the living; maybe to bring the dead home. Both. Either way, it happened because it needed to happen. It was needed. I’m still growing more and more certain of that as I go on.
There was an accident. And I died. It all happened very quickly. So suddenly loud and then so suddenly quiet. There was only the rain and our voices before complete silence.
Melissa was driving. I hope she knows she had nothing to do with my death. It was time and place. She was at the wheel but something greater was driving. That’s one of the reasons I’m writing this. To remind her of that. But she knows that she’s not to blame, though I see her sometimes coping with survivor’s guilt. I’m coping too, with a guilt of leaving. I write this that we may both better cope. All I love and all that love me…
We were passing a tiny intersection and a car just missed something. I don’t if it saw the stop sign or not. And I’m not interested really. But by the time he saw us brakes didn’t much matter. The wet road played with his car like I used to play with my toy cars. When I was young all toy cars were good for was crashing. It used to be fun to make them crash… but last night took us all by surprise! There was not a nostalgic thought in my whole mind when the car hit. None at all. Just a blurp of insane confusion and then I was free from all pain and wonder.
I found myself standing on the road watching the motions come to their end. I could feel the rain, but not with my body. My body was not in the rain nor was it where I stood. My body was in the car, empty, except for confused fluids discovering they had no more purpose. They would begin to slow down.
I ran to the car and opened up the driver’s side door. I was relieved to see that Melissa was okay. Her head was bleeding a little but I knew the instant I saw her that she was going to be fine. Actually, somehow I think I knew it even before I saw her.
Behind her, in the passenger seat, I saw what I could have mistaken for myself. But it wasn’t me; it was what had been my body. Its head was turned facing me, one eye frozen open, the other caked in too much gore to even see if it was there.
I wasn’t hurt or confused to see myself as a freshly mangled corpse. Honestly, I felt fine. The worst part was over for me. I was more concerned now for the ones that had to live.
“Melissa!” I called. I didn’t want her to see my broken body seating next to her. “Melissa, are you okay?”
She looked up at me, dazed and anguished.
“Come on, let’s get you out of there. Come on, it’s okay… I got you.” I helped her out and on to her feet. Her skin was warm… I had felt the rain. Was I not wet?
Once clear out of the car Melissa looked back but I tried to stop her. I wanted to explain what had happened before she saw. I was sure it would be very confusing for her, like when one witnesses something out of context.
“Wait, Mel,” I took her shoulders. “Melissa, everything is going to be okay. Listen… I’m, I’m sorry.”
She tried to look back again and this time noticed a figure resting its head on the dashboard. She became lightheaded, panicked, and exhausted all at once. Even in her disillusioned state I think she already knew what was going on. So I just told her.
“I’m dead, Mel. I’m so sorry but I’m dead.” Melissa wouldn’t stop looking at the bloody figure in the car, so I shook her in my arms as if to wake her up. “Mel! That’s not me. I’m right here and I’m fine.” She looked at me in sad question. I would have cried for her love for me but maybe she wouldn’t understand, so I stayed strong. “Mel, listen. I’m fine, and you… and it’s going to be fine for you! Life is like this, but you’ll go on. I need you to know that. My death is a great loss… for you, and me, but… but I’m still here. I’m dead but not gone! I’ll be somewhere.”  And where will that be?  I wondered briefly.
She understood now for sure that the body in the car was me, had been me. She began to cry desperate tears.
“No, Mel. Don’t. Please don’t grieve for too long about this. Your life will still be full of beauty, pleasure, and happiness. I can see it. I can see from here and I’m happy for you. Your life will be wonderful. Please understand. I’m standing right in front of you and I’m telling you that I’m taken care of. My life was good for me, Mel. I feel great and I can see clearly.” Then I hugged her tight. “ I can finally see clearly, Mel”
We hugged there in the rain for some time…
“I’m here, Mel. And I love you.” And then I faded away.

I went home.
But I never left her.

I gave her this story I wrote not too long ago. And I told her what it was about. She didn’t really like it, but I think she understood why I wrote it.
I was sitting at her sister’s desk at her home when I finished it. And just as I had written the last words Melissa walked in and curiously smiled at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh… I just finished a story.”
“Hmm… is it about us?”
“Yes. It is.” I smiled. “Of course.”
“What happens in it?”
“Well, I die in a car crash and my spirit helps you out of the car and tells you to live your life!”
“Oh.” Melissa sounded disappointed.
“What? What’s wrong with that? I think it’s great!”
“It’s sad…”
I stood up and handed her the book. I gave a little laugh, “No it’s not.”
We looked at each other for a beautiful moment as in her sorrow she smiled. Then at once we both looked over at the mirror. The only person in the reflection was a young beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her. She held a book at waist level. My journal.
She laughed a little too then. “It is so…”
The mirror said she was alone, but she knew the truth. “It is so.”

She hasn’t seen me since but has thought of me. She remembers how close we were. We shared some wonderful memories together. But I don’t let her see me anymore. There is no need. I still watch over her. I still want to see that she is happy.

We should not be hesitant about challenging man with a potential meaning for him to fulfill. It is only thus that we evoke his will to meaning from its state of latency. Man’s Search for Meaning, Victor Frankl

The Fear He Hears

Michael commutes 40 mins to work 5 days a week.  As he drives he looks forward but out of his peripheral he can always see the on-coming traffic.  Sometimes he looks over and can see the people through their windows as they drive pass.  But sometimes he can’t look over… he can’t because of the voice.  Calmly it tells him he could turn his wheel, just a little, to go into that lane of on-coming traffic.  In fact, Michael’s car has a slight pull to the left.  He wouldn’t even have to turn his wheel, he could just let go, lean back and close his eyes.  But Michael never listens to that voice.  Always he stares ahead when he hears it call.  Eyes forward, give no heed…  No matter how loud the voice tells him to let go, to enter that other lane, Michael never strays from the road.  Never!  But the voice dosen’t mind.  It knows that Michael has heard it, and that Michael lives in fear.  Eyes forward he’ll never truly see and the voice in Michael’s head thinks that’s just fine.  As long as he’s afraid he’s already dead.  And this is how Michael goes to work and how he comes home.

The Pengi

The Pengi