July 6: 05F-9, "Missing Spirit"
This one is a little confused. For more details, read the report that follows the images.
Balance of Need and Terror
The kids play it as "Rock, Paper, Scissors." Rock breaks scissors, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock. It's played with hand gestures to settle a fight or simply to inflict pain in a bored moment.
My version is "Love, Desperation, Fear" and the consequences of missing my guess are much greater than a lunch bill or a slap on the wrist. Yes, desperation covers fear: the road ahead ends in blankness and only desperation led me to try the one improbable act that might lift me out and away: taking God's hand. God's act was a demonstrated fact. Good enough.
Not good enough for him. His main point is love. That's the destabilizing factor in a fragile life. I want nothing to do with love. I can handle facts, and that God loves me is demonstrated by what he has done. But he wants me to know it in a way deeper than thought, warmer than rationale. He touched the deep point, and I turned it off.
Now, I've said many times that life without God isn't worth living. That's true if you care about things, but the secret defense is not to care about things. Rather than let God turn me into a man who can feel his love, I simply stopped caring. The circuit breaker tripped. I didn't even run. Just sort of... stopped. And yet, life has its own momentum.
Build number: 05F-9 (lifetime start #307) filtered low tide sand
Title: "Missing Spirit"
Date: July 6 (Wednesday)
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0745; construction time approx 8.25 hours
Height: 3.4 feet (Latchform); sokkel height about 4 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: EOS-1D walkaround and wide-angle details
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: none
Video: none
Equipment note: Used Waterscreen to filter sand into bucket for form seal. Worked well.
1. Understanding the Israelites
Reading the Old Testament is instructive. God works with people and a day later they abandon him in favor of their own ideas. We're made to have him as part of us; the Holy Spirit is as necessary to life as breath and water, and yet is even easier to live without.
It depends on your standards. If, by life, you mean a sort of grey-ghost existence going to work and back, making money, well, you'll do just fine. But that never has been good enough for me. I knew there was something else out there, something magical. Sometimes I touch it, briefly, in a sand sculpture or while listening to music. People really are capable of marvels.
And yet they end up out there in the desert with the Israelites, cursing God for rescuing them from the Egyptians who had enslaved them. I'd already turned my back on God once, so was familiar with the concept, but it was still amazing to read the story and its familiar refrain: "We should have stayed in Egypt." No matter that Pharaoh wouldn't give them straw for their bricks, so the whole exercise was useless. Make-work. Like daily life today. You'd think that these people who'd seen God's hand in action would never leave him.
You'd think the same of me. I have seen miracles. That I'm still walking is a miracle in itself, two years after God's intervention. And if I had a real excuse, perhaps it would make sense.
But it's just basic fear. Desperation conquered the fear, and love softened the desperation, and that led to Fear, big, sharp and quick. I know I can't turn my back on God or I will die, but I also can't face him. I'm in a weird limbo and the color gradually fades from the world.
2. Design. Why?
Knowing my tendency to turn away, emulating the Israelite U-turn, I asked God to do whatever it would take to keep me with him this time. I thought, when saying that, that the control would be the basic economic one, or something else sharp-edged and definite. It turns out be something more basic. Loneliness?
I've been told that the nature of our relationship with God is just that. Children. Friends. How does one have a relationship with someone invisible? It's not really that hard, and you don't even need a cell phone. Silent conversations are no less powerful. Cut off that ready connection and what is left? At first I didn't really miss it. Momentum covers many dips in the road, but eventually runs out in signs that become ever less subtle.
Not caring is a good clue. I'd quit caring years ago but God was giving this back. Not caring is an addictively powerful technique for blunting the sharp edges of life. The Holy Spirit has a better way: he can make me more resilient so that the sharp edges don't tear me apart. He teaches me to sidestep, to weave and dodge, to look at Him instead of the problems.
It could be a trick. "Watch this one," my grandfather used to say as his other hand sneaked around where I couldn't see it to slap me lightly where I wasn't expecting it. Where is God leading me? Anywhere, it could be, while I just stare at his glowing face in preference to looking at the terrifying world. Which works fine until suddenly peripheral vision finally sees the haymaker coming our way.
Turn against food... turn against water... what chance has life in such a situation? Not much. What's gone from life when I turn from God isn't quite so obvious as those, but the worst that will happen without water is death. Without God, there just isn't much point in going on. Yet what I fear keeps me away. I don't even want to ask him to help me change. It's a situation similar to what prevailed in the last days of psychoanalysis: "I'll die before I'll tell him anything."
So, I go ahead with the process of life, which equates to distraction. Stay busy. Let others provide the reasons for design and creativity. Although I don't really feel like making anything, Shirley is expecting me on the beach, so I load up prepare. Don't think, just do it.
3. Filtering
It's a race with the tide, and I'm losing. Waves splash into the borrow pit, and I only have two loads of sand. But by hauling as fast as I can I get what's needed. At least water is easier to get.
Sand comes and goes. Last week the sand was pretty good, and it was clean. Today it's very good but contains hundreds of little bean clams. Thousands. This is why I have a filter.
Actually I have three. There's the standard box filter with the window screen, the Rectascreenus with heavy stainless steel mesh for use when the sand is coarse, and the Waterscreen for use with the latter because the water also contains things I'd rather not have in the sculpture. It's designed to fit the top of the Rectascreenus so that I can pour the water through it. Experimenting, I find that its tapered bottom fits inside a bucket and I'm able to, fairly easily, to filter enough sand to scatter inside the form to seal its bottom edge. As usual, problems are the mother of invention. This is the first sculpture all of whose sand has been screened.
Fine sand like this goes through the box filter easily. I dump the clams into the Sand Cart so I can haul them away, and end up with about 100 pounds of the little things. I'm glad the police didn't come by. I don't have a clamming license.
I'm on autopilot. Packing sand is routine, the ultimate filter. When I'm presented with a full form and a pile ready to carve, I'm left wondering what to do.
4. No Companion
Shirley worked with me for a time in the Control Center. She has wanted to bring her kids out for a year but the schedule never worked out. When she heard that I was proposing a sculpture for a Wednesday she perked up and said she'd bring the kids.
"What should we bring for tools?"
The usual answer: "A plastic spoon and knife work well."
She's well organized. They come across the sand and set up a well-stocked station with dual umbrellas. She even has stakes for the tarp.
The kids get into digging, and when Peggy, wife of another co-worker, shows up, her kids join Shirley's and the two women discuss things. I'm left with the design problem.
A solo sculpture, for the first time in a year. God likes creativity and seems to have a soft spot for sand sculptors. Once he finally got this idea through my hard head, my designs really took off. Today I'm on my own and ideas don't flow so quickly.
I struggle along. The families bail around lunchtime, to join some others for lunch.
5. Confusion
There are always ideas floating around. Choosing harmonious ones and working them together is the hard part. The Holy Spirit has, in the past, taken a fairly active part in this, not letting me accept defaults and suggesting different ways to look at the piece, and helping me to see it clearly. Yes, I know it sounds nuts. God... cares about sand sculpture? Yes.
Today the ideas fight for expression and no one damps the confusion. It's a sad event for one rescued from slavery to historical Egyptians. The result is a sculpture that, while spectacular, isn't particularly beautiful. It's ungainly, the tree motif mixing awkwardly with the Uru light garden idea. I even made the ball for the top, but it would just look silly. Actually the whole thing is pretty silly. Real life takes some bravery in its design, and my bravery is running very thin. I know where that came from, too.
Still, I struggle along. The light and airy piece I wanted becomes earthbound just as I am. It has some nice motion, but is just too graceless overall. It's a return to the excessively cylindric pieces of a few years ago. Finally in the late afternoon I realize two things: it's not getting any better, and I'm getting tired.
6. Clean-up
While not complex in that there's a lot less microsculpture than its predecessors had, it still has lots of places to catch crumbs. I work my way around and down and finally, at around 1600, I call it good and sign it. A man promptly comes by to look, and steps on the signature. I'm afraid he's going to fall into the sculpture, but he avoids this and instead asks if he can sketch it.
"No problem. I've never been asked that before, but whether you're photographing or sketching, photons are free."
He discards his cane, pulls a sketch pad out of his tapestry satchel and goes to work.
I go get my camera and start capturing my own photons. The lighting is harsh, but that's why I have this fancy camera. Little digital cameras have little sensors that are easily overwhelmed by bright light, and their sensitivity in shadows also suffers. Big sensors are better at both ends. This helps also with post-sculptural photographers who are less attentive to details than they should be. Any camera works under good conditions. Difficult situations make expensive equipment worth the money.
The sketching man finishes, and it's quite a sketch. He obviously knows what he's doing.
And I know what I'm doing. I'm done. Going home. Tired, hungry, full bladder, empty spirit.
7. Life Goes On
If this were a situation in a movie. you'd see a scene right now where, through force, cajoling or an intense emotional outburst, the two estranged characters would suddenly and completely be reunited.
Or you'd see the wronged one kill the runner. Or the relationship would be broken forever, as the lead character packs his bags and gives up.
God isn't like that. He's not even like the God written about in many Christian books where he hides his face.
He's not hiding. He's right there. The connection still exists, the promise holds: he will never leave nor forsake me.
No, it's a reprise of 1979, when I hid my face from him. He waits. With none of the rancor or blame that would accompany a human being, he waits. How tired do I want to get?
Life obviously continues. Why? Without God's spirit, there just isn't much point, no matter how skilled I am at making art.
8. Afterword: Patterns of Spirit
Maybe it's because I live in Los Angeles, but I've gotten used to being invisible. You can do just about anything here and not get noticed; the TV producers are looking for the truly outlandish because everyday outlandishness doesn't cut it any more. So, if you want to be seen or noticed you pretty much have to come in driving a sound truck with fireworks. Otherwise, you drive alone.
I've learned the habit. It means there's more room for self-expression. No one sees, so why not be a little more flashy? No one is paying attention.
Within an hour of sending out the images of this sculpture I had two replies. Both asked what was up with the title. "What do you mean by missing spirit?" After I got around to posting the images on the various forums, the response there was similar.
"What's with the title?"
"Why did you name it that? I guess I'll have to wait for the report."
Here I've been doing this forum posting for a couple of months, and people are already used to the pattern. Changes are noticed.
The idea for the report had come the day of the sculpture. I try to be obedient, and a lot of people (well, three or four) were waiting for it... and the gift of a story idea is not to be disregarded lightly. The way to keep ideas visiting is to use them, like drawing water from a well. The well never gets any more full if you don't use the water. Don't save it. Drink it.
Distraction, or God? I've always used distraction to keep from seeing life's uglier aspects. Don't think about it, just go on. God has, however, broken some of this habit. How is a relationship built? By spending time together. I used to give my evenings to God, chatting, reading, thinking. And then Until Uru came along. Evening time promptly went to that.
You'd think that God would have become angry that I'd let a game supplant him. All he did was wait.
Until Uru is a good thing. I've met people there who are more sensitive and more responsive than most I meet in the so-called real world. I've met similar people on the forums, and it all has come together to provide a lot of distraction. Image preparation, writing forum posts, and the real-time interaction running late on the UU community. For all its virtual nature, it is a real community. People choose to be there.
Last night I chose to be there. The core reason was a misunderstanding: I thought it was Friday, and I went to the Uru Christian Fellowship neighborhood to play music for the people coming to attend the meeting. I stood on the bridge overlooking the light garden, waiting, while writing this report. No one showed. Eventually even my post-sculptural brain got the message: It's not Friday.
Well, OK, what else is going on? Oh, yes, Pub Night in Ae'gura. I linked over there, and found that the music was the not-so-golden oldies so idolized by the younger members of UU. I set up an alternative channel that had no takers. so disconnected and started looking around.
After a while, Jeruth showed up and it didn't take her long to get sick of disco. I moved to a different neighborhood and got a private message from Jeruth, asking how I was. I invited her to join me, set up another channel and started playing Celtic. Jeruth joined me, seeking solace, and we sat on the plaza by the fountain. If I could have seen her eyes, they would have been intent.
"So, what's going on? Your message about the sculpture was so different. Melancholy."
"Well, um..." Cornered. Too tired to dissemble or obfuscate. I just tell her the story. She's already demonstrated that she's a good listener, even to my outlandish ideas.
We talked for a time and then some others joined us. As usually happens the conversation changed course, but I still had things to think about.
Mainly, that it's too late to be scared. The changes have started and I might as well try to stop a landslide.
Further thought through the night and next morning led me to realize that there was nothing major wrong. As you start so shall you finish: take God's hand and look to him. Peter sank because he took his eyes off of Jesus. Jesus is the author and finisher. He knows what he's doing.
And yet I have a brain for a reason. Perhaps the way I've simply dumped my life into his lap isn't the whole goal. I don't know what the balance here is. Between the extreme of being carried and the other extreme of being all alone is some sort of middle path. Probably many of them. Jeruth said I wasn't incompetent, but that's the way I feel. Especially when the talk turns to love. Perhaps what God wants to do is make me competent. I know how I got where I am, and have simply gotten scared of where the path leads, but where I am now was just as frightening when I got a look at where we were headed over a year ago. I freaked out then, too, and took months to get settled again. The key was then to keep hold of his hand and not let the wind distract me.
Even good distractions are distractions. I've never been in a situation like this; relationships have been few and far between. Monthly contact, for the most part, or even more rare. Until Uru is daily, which is a whole new experience for me.
I have a very small taste of what Eve and Adam felt. Separated from God by their own choice. I have to choose to hold his hand. He's always there but I can let go. He won't but the relationship changes and life goes out of life. For me, anyway.
2005 July 7, 8
Balance of Need and Terror
The kids play it as "Rock, Paper, Scissors." Rock breaks scissors, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock. It's played with hand gestures to settle a fight or simply to inflict pain in a bored moment.
My version is "Love, Desperation, Fear" and the consequences of missing my guess are much greater than a lunch bill or a slap on the wrist. Yes, desperation covers fear: the road ahead ends in blankness and only desperation led me to try the one improbable act that might lift me out and away: taking God's hand. God's act was a demonstrated fact. Good enough.
Not good enough for him. His main point is love. That's the destabilizing factor in a fragile life. I want nothing to do with love. I can handle facts, and that God loves me is demonstrated by what he has done. But he wants me to know it in a way deeper than thought, warmer than rationale. He touched the deep point, and I turned it off.
Now, I've said many times that life without God isn't worth living. That's true if you care about things, but the secret defense is not to care about things. Rather than let God turn me into a man who can feel his love, I simply stopped caring. The circuit breaker tripped. I didn't even run. Just sort of... stopped. And yet, life has its own momentum.
Build number: 05F-9 (lifetime start #307) filtered low tide sand
Title: "Missing Spirit"
Date: July 6 (Wednesday)
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0745; construction time approx 8.25 hours
Height: 3.4 feet (Latchform); sokkel height about 4 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: EOS-1D walkaround and wide-angle details
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: none
Video: none
Equipment note: Used Waterscreen to filter sand into bucket for form seal. Worked well.
1. Understanding the Israelites
Reading the Old Testament is instructive. God works with people and a day later they abandon him in favor of their own ideas. We're made to have him as part of us; the Holy Spirit is as necessary to life as breath and water, and yet is even easier to live without.
It depends on your standards. If, by life, you mean a sort of grey-ghost existence going to work and back, making money, well, you'll do just fine. But that never has been good enough for me. I knew there was something else out there, something magical. Sometimes I touch it, briefly, in a sand sculpture or while listening to music. People really are capable of marvels.
And yet they end up out there in the desert with the Israelites, cursing God for rescuing them from the Egyptians who had enslaved them. I'd already turned my back on God once, so was familiar with the concept, but it was still amazing to read the story and its familiar refrain: "We should have stayed in Egypt." No matter that Pharaoh wouldn't give them straw for their bricks, so the whole exercise was useless. Make-work. Like daily life today. You'd think that these people who'd seen God's hand in action would never leave him.
You'd think the same of me. I have seen miracles. That I'm still walking is a miracle in itself, two years after God's intervention. And if I had a real excuse, perhaps it would make sense.
But it's just basic fear. Desperation conquered the fear, and love softened the desperation, and that led to Fear, big, sharp and quick. I know I can't turn my back on God or I will die, but I also can't face him. I'm in a weird limbo and the color gradually fades from the world.
2. Design. Why?
Knowing my tendency to turn away, emulating the Israelite U-turn, I asked God to do whatever it would take to keep me with him this time. I thought, when saying that, that the control would be the basic economic one, or something else sharp-edged and definite. It turns out be something more basic. Loneliness?
I've been told that the nature of our relationship with God is just that. Children. Friends. How does one have a relationship with someone invisible? It's not really that hard, and you don't even need a cell phone. Silent conversations are no less powerful. Cut off that ready connection and what is left? At first I didn't really miss it. Momentum covers many dips in the road, but eventually runs out in signs that become ever less subtle.
Not caring is a good clue. I'd quit caring years ago but God was giving this back. Not caring is an addictively powerful technique for blunting the sharp edges of life. The Holy Spirit has a better way: he can make me more resilient so that the sharp edges don't tear me apart. He teaches me to sidestep, to weave and dodge, to look at Him instead of the problems.
It could be a trick. "Watch this one," my grandfather used to say as his other hand sneaked around where I couldn't see it to slap me lightly where I wasn't expecting it. Where is God leading me? Anywhere, it could be, while I just stare at his glowing face in preference to looking at the terrifying world. Which works fine until suddenly peripheral vision finally sees the haymaker coming our way.
Turn against food... turn against water... what chance has life in such a situation? Not much. What's gone from life when I turn from God isn't quite so obvious as those, but the worst that will happen without water is death. Without God, there just isn't much point in going on. Yet what I fear keeps me away. I don't even want to ask him to help me change. It's a situation similar to what prevailed in the last days of psychoanalysis: "I'll die before I'll tell him anything."
So, I go ahead with the process of life, which equates to distraction. Stay busy. Let others provide the reasons for design and creativity. Although I don't really feel like making anything, Shirley is expecting me on the beach, so I load up prepare. Don't think, just do it.
3. Filtering
It's a race with the tide, and I'm losing. Waves splash into the borrow pit, and I only have two loads of sand. But by hauling as fast as I can I get what's needed. At least water is easier to get.
Sand comes and goes. Last week the sand was pretty good, and it was clean. Today it's very good but contains hundreds of little bean clams. Thousands. This is why I have a filter.
Actually I have three. There's the standard box filter with the window screen, the Rectascreenus with heavy stainless steel mesh for use when the sand is coarse, and the Waterscreen for use with the latter because the water also contains things I'd rather not have in the sculpture. It's designed to fit the top of the Rectascreenus so that I can pour the water through it. Experimenting, I find that its tapered bottom fits inside a bucket and I'm able to, fairly easily, to filter enough sand to scatter inside the form to seal its bottom edge. As usual, problems are the mother of invention. This is the first sculpture all of whose sand has been screened.
Fine sand like this goes through the box filter easily. I dump the clams into the Sand Cart so I can haul them away, and end up with about 100 pounds of the little things. I'm glad the police didn't come by. I don't have a clamming license.
I'm on autopilot. Packing sand is routine, the ultimate filter. When I'm presented with a full form and a pile ready to carve, I'm left wondering what to do.
4. No Companion
Shirley worked with me for a time in the Control Center. She has wanted to bring her kids out for a year but the schedule never worked out. When she heard that I was proposing a sculpture for a Wednesday she perked up and said she'd bring the kids.
"What should we bring for tools?"
The usual answer: "A plastic spoon and knife work well."
She's well organized. They come across the sand and set up a well-stocked station with dual umbrellas. She even has stakes for the tarp.
The kids get into digging, and when Peggy, wife of another co-worker, shows up, her kids join Shirley's and the two women discuss things. I'm left with the design problem.
A solo sculpture, for the first time in a year. God likes creativity and seems to have a soft spot for sand sculptors. Once he finally got this idea through my hard head, my designs really took off. Today I'm on my own and ideas don't flow so quickly.
I struggle along. The families bail around lunchtime, to join some others for lunch.
5. Confusion
There are always ideas floating around. Choosing harmonious ones and working them together is the hard part. The Holy Spirit has, in the past, taken a fairly active part in this, not letting me accept defaults and suggesting different ways to look at the piece, and helping me to see it clearly. Yes, I know it sounds nuts. God... cares about sand sculpture? Yes.
Today the ideas fight for expression and no one damps the confusion. It's a sad event for one rescued from slavery to historical Egyptians. The result is a sculpture that, while spectacular, isn't particularly beautiful. It's ungainly, the tree motif mixing awkwardly with the Uru light garden idea. I even made the ball for the top, but it would just look silly. Actually the whole thing is pretty silly. Real life takes some bravery in its design, and my bravery is running very thin. I know where that came from, too.
Still, I struggle along. The light and airy piece I wanted becomes earthbound just as I am. It has some nice motion, but is just too graceless overall. It's a return to the excessively cylindric pieces of a few years ago. Finally in the late afternoon I realize two things: it's not getting any better, and I'm getting tired.
6. Clean-up
While not complex in that there's a lot less microsculpture than its predecessors had, it still has lots of places to catch crumbs. I work my way around and down and finally, at around 1600, I call it good and sign it. A man promptly comes by to look, and steps on the signature. I'm afraid he's going to fall into the sculpture, but he avoids this and instead asks if he can sketch it.
"No problem. I've never been asked that before, but whether you're photographing or sketching, photons are free."
He discards his cane, pulls a sketch pad out of his tapestry satchel and goes to work.
I go get my camera and start capturing my own photons. The lighting is harsh, but that's why I have this fancy camera. Little digital cameras have little sensors that are easily overwhelmed by bright light, and their sensitivity in shadows also suffers. Big sensors are better at both ends. This helps also with post-sculptural photographers who are less attentive to details than they should be. Any camera works under good conditions. Difficult situations make expensive equipment worth the money.
The sketching man finishes, and it's quite a sketch. He obviously knows what he's doing.
And I know what I'm doing. I'm done. Going home. Tired, hungry, full bladder, empty spirit.
7. Life Goes On
If this were a situation in a movie. you'd see a scene right now where, through force, cajoling or an intense emotional outburst, the two estranged characters would suddenly and completely be reunited.
Or you'd see the wronged one kill the runner. Or the relationship would be broken forever, as the lead character packs his bags and gives up.
God isn't like that. He's not even like the God written about in many Christian books where he hides his face.
He's not hiding. He's right there. The connection still exists, the promise holds: he will never leave nor forsake me.
No, it's a reprise of 1979, when I hid my face from him. He waits. With none of the rancor or blame that would accompany a human being, he waits. How tired do I want to get?
Life obviously continues. Why? Without God's spirit, there just isn't much point, no matter how skilled I am at making art.
8. Afterword: Patterns of Spirit
Maybe it's because I live in Los Angeles, but I've gotten used to being invisible. You can do just about anything here and not get noticed; the TV producers are looking for the truly outlandish because everyday outlandishness doesn't cut it any more. So, if you want to be seen or noticed you pretty much have to come in driving a sound truck with fireworks. Otherwise, you drive alone.
I've learned the habit. It means there's more room for self-expression. No one sees, so why not be a little more flashy? No one is paying attention.
Within an hour of sending out the images of this sculpture I had two replies. Both asked what was up with the title. "What do you mean by missing spirit?" After I got around to posting the images on the various forums, the response there was similar.
"What's with the title?"
"Why did you name it that? I guess I'll have to wait for the report."
Here I've been doing this forum posting for a couple of months, and people are already used to the pattern. Changes are noticed.
The idea for the report had come the day of the sculpture. I try to be obedient, and a lot of people (well, three or four) were waiting for it... and the gift of a story idea is not to be disregarded lightly. The way to keep ideas visiting is to use them, like drawing water from a well. The well never gets any more full if you don't use the water. Don't save it. Drink it.
Distraction, or God? I've always used distraction to keep from seeing life's uglier aspects. Don't think about it, just go on. God has, however, broken some of this habit. How is a relationship built? By spending time together. I used to give my evenings to God, chatting, reading, thinking. And then Until Uru came along. Evening time promptly went to that.
You'd think that God would have become angry that I'd let a game supplant him. All he did was wait.
Until Uru is a good thing. I've met people there who are more sensitive and more responsive than most I meet in the so-called real world. I've met similar people on the forums, and it all has come together to provide a lot of distraction. Image preparation, writing forum posts, and the real-time interaction running late on the UU community. For all its virtual nature, it is a real community. People choose to be there.
Last night I chose to be there. The core reason was a misunderstanding: I thought it was Friday, and I went to the Uru Christian Fellowship neighborhood to play music for the people coming to attend the meeting. I stood on the bridge overlooking the light garden, waiting, while writing this report. No one showed. Eventually even my post-sculptural brain got the message: It's not Friday.
Well, OK, what else is going on? Oh, yes, Pub Night in Ae'gura. I linked over there, and found that the music was the not-so-golden oldies so idolized by the younger members of UU. I set up an alternative channel that had no takers. so disconnected and started looking around.
After a while, Jeruth showed up and it didn't take her long to get sick of disco. I moved to a different neighborhood and got a private message from Jeruth, asking how I was. I invited her to join me, set up another channel and started playing Celtic. Jeruth joined me, seeking solace, and we sat on the plaza by the fountain. If I could have seen her eyes, they would have been intent.
"So, what's going on? Your message about the sculpture was so different. Melancholy."
"Well, um..." Cornered. Too tired to dissemble or obfuscate. I just tell her the story. She's already demonstrated that she's a good listener, even to my outlandish ideas.
We talked for a time and then some others joined us. As usually happens the conversation changed course, but I still had things to think about.
Mainly, that it's too late to be scared. The changes have started and I might as well try to stop a landslide.
Further thought through the night and next morning led me to realize that there was nothing major wrong. As you start so shall you finish: take God's hand and look to him. Peter sank because he took his eyes off of Jesus. Jesus is the author and finisher. He knows what he's doing.
And yet I have a brain for a reason. Perhaps the way I've simply dumped my life into his lap isn't the whole goal. I don't know what the balance here is. Between the extreme of being carried and the other extreme of being all alone is some sort of middle path. Probably many of them. Jeruth said I wasn't incompetent, but that's the way I feel. Especially when the talk turns to love. Perhaps what God wants to do is make me competent. I know how I got where I am, and have simply gotten scared of where the path leads, but where I am now was just as frightening when I got a look at where we were headed over a year ago. I freaked out then, too, and took months to get settled again. The key was then to keep hold of his hand and not let the wind distract me.
Even good distractions are distractions. I've never been in a situation like this; relationships have been few and far between. Monthly contact, for the most part, or even more rare. Until Uru is daily, which is a whole new experience for me.
I have a very small taste of what Eve and Adam felt. Separated from God by their own choice. I have to choose to hold his hand. He's always there but I can let go. He won't but the relationship changes and life goes out of life. For me, anyway.
2005 July 7, 8
# © 2005 by Larry @ 
