I am a priest

Three years ago I believe that I had the gifting (at that time I would even use the language “calling”) to become a pastor. This might only seem natural given the fact that my father and his father were pastors of a dedicated group of believers. This being said, I decided to study literature, journalism, and culture at a secular, liberal university to understand the world as best as I could before I began pastoring individuals.

At that time in my life and still today, I was well aware and truly frustrated at the number of pastors, priests, etc. that study in a Christian high school, Christian undergrad, and Christian graduate school to then be in a church all their lives. What do they know of the world? Obviously this is a harsh question but one I still ask.

My thoughts since that time of my life have developed immensely. And I must be honest, my thoughts dramatically changed from the first night at university. God (if he/she is "up there" or all around here) will have to throw a pretty big brick for me to be a pastor. Now I believe I have the character, education, communication skills, heart and grit to love people well and to be loved by people, but my heart no longer desires to have such a position. And to be blunt, I am not sure if I believe in the role. We all are pastors, priests, preachers and even the pope. However, I will leave televangelists to a very select group of people. We all are not one of them. Thank God.

All of this said, today, something happened. It was a moment that made me laugh out loud and enjoy true irony for all it's worth.

Today I presented Wallace Stevens and his works to my Modernism seminar. A major concept that is attributed to him is the theory of the “Supreme Fiction.” The Supreme Fiction is the replacement of the belief in God for a belief in something else. Stevens believed that fiction (poetry) was worthy believing in.

In his essay Opus Posthumous, Stevens states:

“The relation of art to life is of the first importance especially in a skeptical age since, in the absence of a belief in God, the mind turn to its own creations and examines them, not alone from the aesthetic point of view, but for what they reveal, for they validate and invalidate, for the support they give.”

The poet or more broadly, the fiction writer is someone who describes and presents the relation between art and life within his/her works. The poet and what he/she creates becomes and replaces the thought of God.

In the same essay, Stevens makes several more statements that might clarify his thought.

“The theory of poetry is the theory of life.”

“The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction that you believe in it willingly.”

“Reality is the spirit’s true center”

This final quote might stick out to a critical eye. If Stevens does not believe in a higher being, why would he use the term “spirit?” The word spirit for Stevens is the essence of the world. This essence is defined by the tension and interconnectedness of humanity and reality and the mind and soul (inner psyche) to name a couple.

However, answers do not come this easy. The poet will always have “a never-resting mind” ("The Poem of Our Climate”) as he/she attempts to speak of this essence. The uncertainty, yet, desire for Stevens to search for the connections between the different facets of the world is seen throughout all his works and is never quite found.

Yet, Stevens is a firm believer of the poet being the creator of the world because the poet presents that essence. Because poetry is the “theory of life,” the role of the poet (according to Stevens) is to “help people live their lives” (The Noble Rider and the Sound of Words.) Due to the replacement of God with poetry and the duty of the poet, the poet becomes the middleman or middlewomen between the world and the human.

Thus, “the poet is the priest of the invisible,” the priest of the world and the priest of reality (“Adagia”).

And again, I laughed out loud when my mind linked Stevens calling for all writers of fiction to assist people to live their lives to an ironic re-imagination of the word pastor.

I am a writer and lover of fictions. I am a seeker of the latent things of this world.

I am a priest.

My treasure map

I recently met with an instructor about my future in academics. She is who I would like to be in a few years so I asked her what and who i should read to enter into the historical and present conversation of literary theory and criticism.

Some questions I have in mind as I read these books:

1. What is the limits of representation and presentation? Dealing particularly with the nature of silence.
   
2. Why is art always trying to completely represent and/or present the world before us when we actually are in "reality?"
   
3. Why do readers still enter into fiction and fiction writers portray the readers world?
   
4. What is Derrida's thoughts on religion when he himself is Jewish?
5. Does language use us?
   
6. The nature of language and the divide between Jacques Lacan and Ferdinand Saussure.
   

Here are the notes from our conversation. I must say that I have also included the books Orthodoxy and The Philosopher and the Wolf, which were recommended by two dear friends. And a personal side note: I am also reading Diary of an Old Soul by George MacDonald daily.

This is my "for fun reading list" for the next month of two. I am excited and giddy to read these works.

1. Return to Freud by Samuel Weber
a. “The Unconscious Chess Player”
b. “Saussure and the Apparition of Language” (Not sure if in this work)

2. Points...: Interviews, 1974-1994 by Jacques Derrida

3. The Postcard: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond by Jacques Derrida
a. Specifically the “Love Letters” section.

4. Orthodoxy by G. K. Chesterton

5. Deconstruction in a Nutshell: A Conversation with Jacques Derrida (Perspectives in Continental Philosophy) by John Caputo

6. Look for interviews with Jacques Rancière

7. Look for interviews with Hélène Cixous. Read Anthology.
a. “The Gardening of Language” interview.
b. The Laugh of the Medusa (what she is most known for)
c. Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Helene Cixous, Susan Sellers, and Sarah Cornell
d. Look for London speech in near future.

8. On Literature (Thinking in Action) by J. Hillis Miller

9. Arts of Impoverishment: Beckett, Rothko, Resnais by Leo Bersani and Ulysse Dutoit
a. Just read introduction. Get at library.

10. “What is an Author” by Michel Foucault.

11. Jacques Derrida (Routledge Critical Thinkers) by Nicholas Royle

12. The Philosopher and the Wolf by Mark Rowlands.

I am An interesting day...

I am a shamed of myself for writing a blog post on Valentine’s Day. Hopefully this isn't too dramatic, didactic and ambiguous. I am ashamed. :)

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The cotton clouds stretch over the horizon. It’s not gloomy, just gray. In a moment, the sheet of clouds will rip and the perfect blue will show through. Water droplets drip from roof to gutter. Couples walk hand and hand. Dogs run. Squirrels find. The rose is already wilting.

Today I awoke to the muse of Death Cab for Cutie’s "A Marching Band of Manhattan" (listen to it.) I took a quick “French bath” and proceeded to prepare for a meal with my Clowes Court neighbors.

In my sandals and socks I moved next door. Still feeling the lines
of Death Cab:
“Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound.”

The pans are cooling, the food is ready. We all sit for re-nourishment.

Laughter, secrets and questionable jokes fill the room amongst the muffins, eggs, questionably chunky bacon and chocolate cake. After the last drop was licked and the last crumb given to the ducks, we all went our way this interesting Sunday.

I now find myself peering outside at the bedlinen-like sky. Cozed by coffee, peaced by pictures, comforted by chair, compelled by fictions. Besides me lies the collected works of Geoffrey Chaucer and next to Chaucer lies James Joyce’s Ulysses. I have been reading. I have been traveling.

Books are my dearest things, dearest possession. I love purchasing books and I have a dictionary that I refer to as my bible (and I am serious.) but there is more than purchasing that takes place with books. I want to move beyond the purchasing and possessing aspects of book collecting.

Books are given as gifts. Books are spontaneous escapes from conscious reality. Books are wisdom and enlightenment. Books assist you in seeing old things new. Books are fun and complex and magically simple. Books are reality.

Each book is dear to me. I have a few favorites that will always be my favorite. These books are foundational to who I am. They are the pastness of the present. I will never throw a book away.

However, I am learning, reading, and discovering books and fictions each day. I have received books as gifts, for courses, and for my own personal exploration. These books are becoming dear to me.

Still there is always that one book that makes you laugh. Makes you tear. Makes you lost for words. Makes you silly. Makes you imagine. Makes you more. Makes you want. Makes you you and I I. You would rather read the book then wake for a coastline sunrise or attend an afternoon tea.

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I am lonely I am lonely I am. I would not be human if I did not state this…
if I did not embrace this.

But I still “am.”

I will never stop sailing in the open sea.
Though that is what has crippled me.

Today is a day of extremes it seems. Emotions heightened, depression deepened, and friendships questioned.

To all,
Happy Valentine’s Day. Live deep within your soul. And live deep in another.

Footsteps

It is easy to think one is alone.

And I don’t necessarily mean lonely. To clarify, it is easy to think one is original—a person’s identity, ideology, and lifestyle are not formed from language, society, history, family and personal motive. For some, it is easy to think one has a duty to do something alone, original and radical to change this world for the better.

There is a path I walk quite often from my place to town and to homes that house my friends. Many times I walk this path alone after a long and late night out.

A few days ago it snowed here in Canterbury. A good 5 inches at least. Though the snow has been melting there is still evidence of the many feet that take the same path as I down Tyler Hill. Now some of these tracks deviate left and right throughout the length of the hill to go to their respected destinations or to simply make a snowman (or snowwoman,) but the point is that there is a snow-packed path full of sole imprints.

These hardened snow tracks caught my eye as I walked up the snow-covered hill to my resting place the other night.

I might have been alone, apart from the population of rabbits that take note of each passerby. I might have been walking to a destination by my lonesome.
But each of my steps stepped on the former steps of many.

And I wonder what those footprints would have to say…

Christmas

Christmas

There are several pairs of lenses one could place on his or her nose to read this word with near clarity. To read a word, humans must place lenses of definitions or “values” on the words they read. Words themselves would be nothing but simple signs unless we placed them into a structure of meaning, relevance and system. Though there is a structure to the structure of language, there are still multiple interpretations and readings of a particular word. Christmas has become a complex word that invites many readers to approach the word with their own lenses. I want to look at these lenses or definitions to establish what I have been thinking of Christmas lately.

One definition that we place on the word “Christmas” is of a religious nature. It is no secret that Christmas symbolizes a time when the gods gave one of their own to be born on earth to reunite the gods and humans into a companionship. This mystical tale is full of peculiar (maybe even contradictory) details of how the gods chose for the baby-god to enter humanity. This tale is a rather simple story full of complex and hidden details, but I would rather not speak of the literary value of the birth of this baby-god at this moment.

The second definition that is placed on the word “Christmas” comes from society. Because society attempts to separate itself from religion, the “societal Christmas” focuses on the manifestations of Christmas, not necessarily the origins of the holiday. Through society, Christmas is a joyous holiday full of food, good cheer, gifts, Christmas sweaters, Santa Clause, snow and family. Society attempts to overpower the religious value of the word, but I would suggest that the religious connotation of Christmas still exists today, though it might only exist in a historical (thus a distant) sense.

Now there are negative aspects to both definitions. Society’s, particularly the media’s, definition of Christmas have aspects of consumerism (well, this is evident in the USA’s society) where all you hear about is “a diamond is forever.” In England the adverts are not so forceful or annoying, but there is still a hint of consumerism.

The negative aspect of the religious connotation is the exclusion and separatist nature of Christmas. What if someone does not want to celebrate Christmas? Society is attempting to move the definition of Christmas away from its religious value so all may freely participate.

To address another relevant con to Christmas, Christmas is a time of loneliness for many.

Though there are different lenses, the meaning of the word must be inspected closely. The old English root of the word simply says “Crïstes + mæsse.” In old English this would be translated as “Christ’s festival.” This festival commemorates and celebrates the coming of a god (the baby-god sent by the gods to become part human.) There is a marriage in the word that unites the concepts of gift and companionship. “Crïstes” is humanity’s gift from the gods. “Mæsse” originates from the concept of Mass. Mass could be analyzed in several ways, but one way to looked at it is through companionship, which literally means, “to break bread with.” The gods chose to symbolize their union with humans by breaking break in the last supper. This being said, within the word there is an intertwining of the words gift and friendship. Through the lenses of different readers and the dichotomy of the word, there is major “play” when using and reading the word. However, I want to define more clearly the connotation of this godly gift in particular. Now bear with me.

The story of this god coming down to earth has his “death” told in paintings, images, statues, necklaces and little booklets passed out by crazy peoples all over the world. It has been used as an icon to kill and save throughout the world. Thus, the idea of Christmas needs to be re-examined with fresh eyes, a reborn imagination and a new vigor towards fictional stories. The myth speaks of the baby-god sacrificing his godliness to come to be with us humans. The baby-god lost his godliness and then lost his humanness when killed by the humans he came to be in relationship with. Therefore, there is an intrinsic value of sacrifice in the idea of Christmas—the festival that remembers the gift of the gods—the gift to be later murdered.

Therefore, Christmas holds the value of sacrifice. But how would this relate to humans and how we experience Christmas? To transpose the essence of sacrifice to daily life, sacrifice might simply look like thinking and living beyond one’s self. Now I am a big believer in having a festival whenever I can or to visit any that are taking place, but I think that the essence of Christmas (and this might go unsaid) is in the everyday life.

This is how I spent my Christmas… mainly on a train from Rome (where you could say Christmas was first created) to Florence, Italy. It was a four and a half hour ride where I filled the time by listening to music with my ipod, eating Penguins (wonderful English chocolate biscuits), and watching the Italian countryside pass me by. Later that evening I skyped with my family for a good hour, ate Italian pizza, drank wine, ate chocolate and attempted to watch A White Christmas and Miracle on 34^th Street but they wouldn’t download correctly. When I went to bed that night i was not satisfied, I was also not unsatisfied, I just was falling asleep from another day.

I know of an English bloke who spent his Christmas at his university home alone where he opened gifts he rapped for himself and ate bread and butter for the day because he could not grocery shop the day before. He then spent the day watching movies and the Queen’s annual speech to the nation.

Christmas for me (the literal day) has not really happened. And I am glad for this. Christmas takes place in the little things I encounter in life. I have and hope to experience bits of Christmas each day in a new way. We should celebrate the mystical, fictional tale of the gods, diversity, unity, companionship, and the ability that we all can give each other a laugh, a cookie, a card, and even an embrace. And this in time should scratch our lenses a bit. We won’t be able to read the word so clearly, but maybe that is the point. The third definition that I would like to place on the arbitrary symbols that make up what we know, as Christmas is the messy idea to live a life of sacrifice and companionship—being an important local citizen and an aware world citizen. But this is still ill defined.

A Blustery Evening

Laughter galloped from the lips

of the satisfied,

Sitting in the sporadic yet

Classic setting

of the fluttering candlelight.

Eased chatter and empty cups

reminded us of the thought

of lemon tea.

Liquid pleasure whistled

At leisure’s pace.

She touched his shoulder

This had no delay.

Cups cracked click clack,

Fingers as few as one

Composed these taps.

Drizzle to drops

mmmm……

A smile spilled free

With the last lemon drop.

Les Misérables

If every human every night let the spectacle of theatre capture himself or herself, the world would slowly become a better place as quickly as the gowned and suited strolled away from the theatre. I would also hope that the first change would be the appearance of theatre's audience. The seats would be equally filled with the faces of tattered trousers and torn jumpers . For the theatre is the marriage of music, language, and expression and moves the richest and poorest of souls. In essence, theatre becomes the Word that touches the mind, soul, and body of all.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odrZ6NtPR2M

One day more.

The beginning of dreams, of hopes, of transformation. Each day, each dawn awakes a new beginning.

One day more.

The iron chain of loneliness, poverty, and pain slowly breaks its victims body with its clench and rust.

One day more.

The musical Les Misérables invites the viewer to be lost in the conflicts of humans and the tragedy they live. Les Misérables is literally translated “the miserable,” “the destitute,” or “the wretched” and is a story of individuals who seem to never break free from the iron chain that destined them from birth. But carved deeply into this story, through all the Hard Times, is a seed of freedom that can be found in understanding one’s own self, “the deep pulsation of this world,” and the power of their decisive actions.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yt-IBJpEMzA&feature=related

One day more.
Another day, another destiny.
This never-ending road to Cavalry.

Les Misérables begins in France in the year 1815 with the release of Jean Valjean from prison. Shortly after prison, Valjean steals a bishop’s tableware, who had graciously opened his house to him. Caught by the authorities and brought back to the bishop’s house for conviction, the bishop declares to the authorities that the silverware was a gift and Valjean had left the prize peaces, the two silver candlesticks. Wrongly freed from this betrayal, Valjean sees his evil self in the bishop's grace . From that moment, Valjean gives his life to Grace and becomes her giver.

Tomorrow will be far away
Tomorrow is the judgment day.
Tomorrow we’ll discover what our God in heaven has in stored.

The story now enters Paris during the 1832 uprising where many of the main characters bind themselves to the oaths and dreams of a better nation symbolized in a flag worth fighting for. Each man and each woman chooses to “not be slaves again,” and takes up arms and sacrifice themselves. A common voice “of the people, by the people, and for the people” formed through theory triggers an action, a chance to change. They died the second night… dreaming of a better nation beyond the barricade.

One day to a new beginning
Raise the flag of freedom high.
Every man will be a king.

The story of people--the people of the gutter, the people of the inn, the people of the brothel, the people of the factory, the people of the prison, the people of childhood, and the people of a new nation. A story with shredded threads of grace and unforgiveness, love and hate, and harmony and disagreement ties the hand of the viewer. Tears of war, of death, of broken dreams, and the lack of change hold the viewer wishing he or her could help, change, or mend the lives of those in need. Yet, their hands are tied. Though death visits many of the characters, it is not the end. For the end is not today, but only what tomorrow brings.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odrZ6NtPR2M

One day more.
Another day, another destiny.
This never-ending road to Cavalry.

“The never-ending road to Calvary.” There is something about this line. Through the miserable moments of Les Misérables it seemed improbable that anything would change. Yet, there are glimpses of a better reality seen through the unconditional love and grace represented through Valjean and his actions. This love then transcends and becomes reseeded in the pure, childish romance of Marias and Cossette (the life’s work of Valjean). Through the everyday (the never-ending), there is love. Love of money, love of war, love of power, but ultimately, the audience’s hearts silently blossomed at the fulfillment of love within these two lovers with a love that can cut the shredded threads from each of our hands.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzCSb6OnkZA&feature=related

Do you hear the people sing?
Lost in the valley of the night.
It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light.
Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

This musical, inspired from the novel by Victor Hugo, might seem dated. Not because of the historical content and political context, but because of the religious and didactic morals of the piece. Historically, this work uses religion as a source of hope (escape), but we post-modern humans are well aware. There is no author and there is no God. Hugo was a simple idealist who threaded is works with an optimistic moral and ideology to keep him and his readers sane. But beyond this resignification, post-modern, philosophical, literary, ideological argument, this three-hour performance grabs each ear and whispers "you have the opportunity to change this world." But why should the audience care about the prostitutes, the poor, the rich, the lonely, the loved, the lame, and the norm-all?

If one seat in the 1200 seats of the Queen’s Theatre did not feel the shredded threads cut, see the painting of a new reality, taste an opportunity to love, touch the bursting of human emotion then... then my theory in the beginning of this rant is rubbish.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCYr8TWAGn0&feature=related

They will put away the sword.
The chain will be broke and all men [women] will have their reward!
Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that you bring when tomorrow comes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4924xJl38E&feature=fvw