mortal man

unwraps paper
     slow, slow
mutters maybes because
    multitudes Must know
hunches in drab tones --
and the jaw's stretch
and the chew's stick
and the breeze on his freckled crown
shrinks his limbs in
    huddled, hunkered, hardly

perhaps at 22, 23
one's ears awake --
this demeaning coda
sings insipid
"what's it all ab-OW-it?  what's it all ab-OW-it?"
sotto voce mezzo forte
throbbing of the soul
beyond a #6, no onions,
    small fry

Blue Like Jazz: the movie - an open letter/review

Dear Don & Steve,

Here is my review of Blue Like Jazz.  It doesn’t read like a review, but this is the only way I could write it.  This is a movie that makes you talk, yet it’s so very hard to talk about.

I invited a large group of my friends to the opening night of Blue Like Jazz.  Two were able to come: one Christian and one atheist.  I sat between the two at the theater.

I was nervous as hell.

I felt compelled to explain each scene that might not be “comfortable” to either friend.  I anxiously shifted in my seat when anything that could potentially be dubbed “too secular” or “too Christian” appeared.  I leaned over to whisper to both that Renn Fayre had actually been toned down, according to the movie’s website, just in case it wasn’t believable enough to them.

And then I finally realized that this wasn’t just an issue of who I was sitting between.  This was a war inside myself. 

I work near a large number of rehabilitation centers in the Twin Cities area, and my office often receives police updates about recently released inmates coming to the area.  I stare at photos of sex offenders and I cry, not only for their innocent, naive victims, but for the offender himself and the help he either never received or refused because of lies he believed.  I mourn the fact that Christians are often seen as uncaring, uncompassionate, judgmental Pharisees when I know that my concern for “the least of these” is shared by so many.

As a philosophy minor, I also deeply value logic and truth, even when the truth is hard or offensive.  Though I wrestle with God’s punishment as issued throughout scripture, I don’t deny the validity or necessity of it.  I mourn the lack of passion some Christians seem to have for truth being known or told.

Therein lies my everlasting internal debate: I can understand when lies are told or believed and thus, have the responsibility to confront them.  But I understand the hurt that empowers those lies, and my heart breaks for that pain.

This movie opened my eyes to that war.  It proceeded to deal with the war in ways that were real, uncomfortable, and disarming.  Was every curse word condemned?  No.  Was every anti-Biblical behavior pointed out and ultimately redeemed?  No.  But that isn’t what Blue Like Jazz set out to do.  It set out to re-open the conversation of faith in God.  I have now seen Blue Like Jazz twice.  Both times, I’ve had hours-long conversations afterward.  This movie evened the playing field, showing us that neither Christians nor agnostics nor atheists nor any other proponent of any other religion is perfect, and none of us should act as if we are.  That doesn’t mean there isn’t knowable truth in life. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t share that knowable truth.  It just means that we share it as one who is amazed, flawed, humble, and loved.

All that said, here are a few of my less important observations of the film:

Best worst pick-up line: “It’s ok…I’m just recycling!”

Things I caught after seeing it a second time:

• Don rearranging the stars on his dorm room ceiling as his perspectives on life, faith, and God changed.
• The Brooke Fraser poster in the hall nearby Penny’s dorm.
• Penny’s astronaut self wearing the mittens Don gave her as a present.
• The rooster alarm clock crowing three times the morning after Don “didn’t technically deny anything, but…” (I actually caught this the first time, but it was such a cool moment that I had to mention it!)

Questions I want to ask Don & Steve:

• Why was Don’s name Lewis Dagg when he was in the bookstore?
• Will the movie soundtrack be available on iTunes?
• Why was name of the actor who played the dean of students at Reed in all lowercase letters in the credits?
• Would you say the two churches that were portrayed in the movie were archetypes or stereotypes, and why?
• Does that “scrounge” section really exist in Reed’s cafeteria?

Things I want to thank Don & Steve for:

• Giving me a book I’m proud to recommend to any of my friends.
• Giving me a CD from which I took my high school AIM screen name (RoaringLamb) and which gave me faith that Christian music could be interesting and not have “God” in every lyric.
• Giving me a movement to believe in and be a part of.

Community

evening bookended by gin;

dawn by coffee

ah my sweets

you dull the noble itch

nestled deep in hazy(self-important annoyance)

courted by a vapor       a wisp

            a blade of glass

left laughing with

my furniture

Japanese

hotel rooms make up for poor luxury

with rich privacy

so many mirrors make

(you)r world seem bigger

and burnt maps give

that warm feeling          

not being

able to figure where’s

home

must just                      

be here be here

without

blood’s pressure

i feel

i can feel the blood
i can feel the pulse pumping slow
i feel agony
i can feel the ache in the flow

i give my little
i cry your fear
i love you His hope
His hope meets us here

spyglass guards the entrance to my soul
strongest of prescriptions
gives me perfect x-ray vision
it mirrors wounds like they're my own
cuts so harsh they beg contrition

i give my little
i cry your fear
i love you His hope
His hope meets us here

my shoulders so narrow
Your hung arms so wide
Your cross I can't carry
You hold me up inside
uphold this universe:
the gravity
of empathy inside

the fraction of your frightened i can claim
so potent in my heart; can't compare to where you are
but each emotion's height He can contain;
sorrows borne and killed in His scars

i give my little
i cry your fear
i love you His hope
His hope meets us here

i hate webber, but the metaphor is apt.

i have been hurt, abandoned, and rejected throughout the course of my life.  i don't say this to be maudlin; you set yourself up for these kinds of things when you pursue a life in the arts.  it is a field where you are judged and critiqued on microscopic levels...a field where you have to constantly prove yourself worthy. and when your efforts fail, hurt, abandonment, and rejection lie in wait, ready to devour every sinew of your confidence and self-worth.

i hate those feelings. but what i hate even more is the disingenuous nature many develop in order to cover them up.  each name-drop, each mention of this show or that director or recent paycheck, each self-absorbed monologue and gossipy remark serves to mask a vulnerable artist afraid to create life - - but not on the stage.  no, the stage is fake and safe and allows you to be whomever you can't at your 9 to 5, on your sofa, with that guy you might just be dating but you're not quite sure.  the artist hiding behind a shroud of famous so-and-sos is the phantom afraid to be removed from his opera house.  it takes a special soul to be able to breathe honest life into the mundane...without lights or glittery costumes or blue language to scream in an effort to 'be free from society's constraints and social mores'.

i love the stage.  i love being able to step into an unwritten contract with an audience and usher willing minds to another world to tell a story of importance.  but it pains me to see that fantasy being used as an emotional drug by actors to escape hard, true interaction with any immeasurably valuable human being.

all of these things build a great fear in me.  i start to wonder if honest interaction is even possible. yet scripture says over and over again, 'do not be afraid'.  i always heard that and thought, "great.  something else i'm doing wrong.  i'm scared and i'm not supposed to be so i guess i'll just grit my teeth and pretend my way through it."  but scripture has many statements like that: 'pray without ceasing'; 'take heart'; 'delight in the Lord'...God wouldn't just give us those commands to shame us and tell us we're failing.  there must be something we can do.

that's where trust comes in, which makes me sick, because i trust and then i get hurt and then i never want to trust again.  but true trust perserveres.  this is what i'm learning: trust is not blind, but it is also not fickle.  when you trust continually, you will still experience hurt and abandonment and rejection.  but you will not live trapped within those emotions - - the pain will bloom and die within a larger goal of hope. 

i find myself struggling to break from these opera houses of fear daily...scared to leave the safety of my solitude for the wild of broken, fragile relationships. but i do it because i want my life to rival any story worth becoming a musical.  i mean, heck, my life's got enough music already.  it just needs a killer plot line.  and that means risking for what's real.

why i don't write more often

the things that compel me to write are usually the miniscule observations on character that brilliantly glisten when peered at with a tilted head.  however, these are usually secrets...

...the ego that pops out in the offhand comment invoking 'us' and 'them'...

...the immaturity evident in a grammatical slip-up...

...the fear of their own romances bolstering their inquiries into my relationship.

secrets are kept as such so as to not embarass the masquerader, and my commentary on the aforementioned matters, however innocent, would be almost certain to offend.  and that, friends, is my own secret: although i notice unsavory bits of character all the time, i never point them out, because i am afraid to be attacked.

however, i need to write.  so i will work beyond this fear.  expect more soon.

stars align

since i don't believe
the planets are gods
(even though we've named them after our false ideas of Him)
and whenever I stand
before electronic sliding doors
they don't sense my personhood
and i've never been able to input
that ESP channel
it must just mean
that things turn a little brighter
as one magnifies the sparkling facets of the other
and the other magnifies the sparkling facets of the One
and spinning in endless cycles of dimpled radiance
a universe swells in creation
uncontainable --
the notes and poems and footsteps and splatters
of a thousand characteristics shone
through as many mirrors
blessed by the Light

~ 1/23/11