No one is gonna take me alive

I'm listening to Muse, a band that is fast becoming a favorite, contemplating the fact that I just had the first conversation in a long series of reaquaintance conversations with Christina. I'm looking forward to our time together greatly.

She and I had a rather bitter break last year, due much to my own foolishness and the follies of my youth. I'm so glad for the opportunity to have another go at friendship. I think this is mostly in part due her desire to treat me with grace, to engage me in a way that heralds growth and not destruction.

"The time has come to make things right."

(Yes, Mike. This is weak. I don't care.)

Mantra

Under the chanting of my new mantra, I realize that so much of our perception of the world is defined by our own choices and our down decision to have a certain mood.

I am a happy person, I am a happy person, I am a happy person, I whisper to myself at the crosswalk, in line at Gwinn, or taking a shower.

I have enjoyed the last few days of my life more immensely than I ever expected to. I'm getting acquainted with my smile and the joy of singing.

I am a happy person.

Promises, Promises

I'm posting at 2:30 in the morning even though I wanted quite badly to drift easily off to sleep not two minutes ago. Why, you may ask? Why would you do such a horrible, no-good, dastardly thing to yourself? Because I promised Mike I would keep up with him in writing on my blog once a day for this quarter.

Promises are weird things. Your honor is invested in them, which is weird because we don't live in a society where honor really matters. I won't have to ritually kill myself for being dishonorable, nor will I have to defend someone else's honor at sword point, so why bother keeping this promise, right?Just go to bed, and make up for it later.

I don't think so. There is something gloomy about a broken promise, something that feel's like discovering Santa isn't real or that the girl you gave your first kiss to is engaged. It's not world ending, (okay maybe the Santa thing is), but a little portion of you has the blues about it.

There is something to be said about not having to ask forgiveness, about not letting Mike down here that makes it worthwhile for me to write, despite my immanent sleep deprivation.

Besides, who likes feeling melancholy? (This is a poor ending but I promised I would write, not write well.)

Theived I-pod's and Unrighteous Judgement

Today, I thought I lost my I-pod. I searched my room high and low. I tossed bed sheets back and forth, dug through dirty laundry, searched the pockets of every article of clothing I have worn in the past week, scavenged through my couch, and there was no sight of my musical beauty.

So I got angry. I got terribly frustrated and furious. I had determined without a shadow of a doubt that my I-pod had been stolen by one of the men on my floor. I became upset and judgmental, trying to figure out who the thief could be. I despised that man, hating him for taking away my new gift.

Not two minutes after I had determined that I was furious and I would lock the door to my room forever and never keep it open again, I found my I-pod snuggling under a few papers on my desk.

I felt horrible and wretched. When I felt righteous, I had judged each of the men on my floor and nothing could have brought me down from that height. When I was wrong, I was blatantly at fault and was sinful and ugly. I felt ashamed by my actions and thoughts. I was angry over a chunk of plastic and electricity. How foolish was I!

This event was a reminder to myself that while I consider people to be inherently good, I am also often distrustful of others and the first to blame them for their wrongness, all the while ignoring my own failings. There is a line between knowing you are right and actually being right and I think too often I squint my eyes at this line and blur it. My sin is pride and is a sneaky devil.

Quiet Thistles and Sonorous Snowflakes

On a bitter Colorado day, the January sun illuminates the snow-dusted mountains and there is nothing new about the New Year.

The sun parts the winter clouds, a ripe, juicy apricot plump with potential and change.

No part of faith makes any sense. If the church is built upon a foundation of stone, it is a stone impossible recognize.

Through a series of entirely impossible circumstances, quarter after quarter, Alec finds a divine mercy which provides just enough money for him to pursue Theology at SPU. Like manna from the heavens, it appears overnight and unexpected.

I am a 19 year old man from white Parker, CO who has seen very little of the world.

I dream nightly of distant cities and empty seas, have explored a thousand times over ancient ruins, and gambled with cut throats and saints.

Philosophy is saving me; philosophy has damned me.