I turned sixty last month. A lot of things are never going to get done. Nothing in particular, just a lot of them. Everything else being equal, there’s just not enough time. Even if money wasn’t an issue, there’s still not enough time. There’s too many places to see, trails to hike, stories to tell, roads to ride, mistakes to correct, too many books to read.
And there’s something wrong with part of my brain. It thinks I’m thirty, or that’s not it exactly, but it definitely thinks I should be, or it forgets sometimes that I’m not. It gets reminded pretty fast when I stand up and, just like my old man, it takes me seven eight steps to straighten my back. Do you remember that song; Peter, Paul and Mary might have done it?
“Work your fingers to the bone and what do you get?
Boney fingers. Boney fingers.”
That was my old man. It’s beginning to look like it’s going to be me. Sometimes I can feel my fingers trying to twist over one another. I have to grab them and force them back. Who’d a thought?
It seems life is about getting sidetracked. Best laid plans, as they say. It ain’t till your looking back you can see where you’ve been going and you thank whoever there is to thank if you’re in a half way decent place because there’s no going back to change things and how ever far you are when you look back there’s always more coming. And things don’t ever stop, at least not when your eyes are open, usually not even then.
So what choice is there? I’ll keep living the life I got, breathe in breathe out, keep stepping out having faith there’ll be something to catch my foot when it comes down.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Cold feet vs pie
The economy being what it is, this winter is going to be hard on a lot of people. I write this sitting in my kitchen with my fleece vest on, putting off as long as I can turning on the pellet stove. Well, I have a pellet stove to put off turning on. And I’m not going to go hungry or lose my house. I have a lot to be thankful for and I could write about that, but that’s not what this post is about. This post is about the widening gap between the one and the ninety-nine.
This post is about fat cats here in the states knowingly selling a lot of people a bill of goods, making an obscene amount of money, and, not only getting off, but getting huge bonuses for piloting their ships into the rocks. It’s not like they didn’t see the rocks. They were in plain sight. And everybody knows what they did. There is no mystery, or if there is it’s how much governments were a part of this gigantic Ponzi scheme?
And what of the ninety-nine? We’re getting cold here. We’re putting on extra clothes and downgrading our dinner menus. We’re buying used tires. We’re adjusting the hell out of our expectations. We seem to have the right to free speech as long as we don’t cause any inconveniences to commerce. People are getting arrested for trampling the grass while those trampling on the lives and futures of millions are getting another piece of pie.
This post is about fat cats here in the states knowingly selling a lot of people a bill of goods, making an obscene amount of money, and, not only getting off, but getting huge bonuses for piloting their ships into the rocks. It’s not like they didn’t see the rocks. They were in plain sight. And everybody knows what they did. There is no mystery, or if there is it’s how much governments were a part of this gigantic Ponzi scheme?
And what of the ninety-nine? We’re getting cold here. We’re putting on extra clothes and downgrading our dinner menus. We’re buying used tires. We’re adjusting the hell out of our expectations. We seem to have the right to free speech as long as we don’t cause any inconveniences to commerce. People are getting arrested for trampling the grass while those trampling on the lives and futures of millions are getting another piece of pie.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Remember The White
Everything is broken, in the sea, on the land, in the air, and we who go about proclaiming our knowledge; we are the most profoundly broken of all. The best of us, with the best of intensions, hit so wide of the mark, are so blind to the infinite amount of things we do not know existing outside the reach of our puny grasp, we fail to judge rightly the inadequacy of our assumptions, refuse to understand the infinite cannot by us be divided into its components, studied under a microscope, and figured out.
This is the failure of both the Red and the Blue factions. The limitations of their private vision elude them obscuring the wisdom of the other and the foolishness of the self. They cannot hear the other not because they are deaf, but because of the belief there is nothing to learn.
The dragons of the Black are not hindered by this dilemma. The single mindedness of their devotion concerns itself only superficially, if at all, with the discussion of right or wrong. The bottom line is always the bottom line. All things must come under subjection to it. Mercy is only a viable option if it serves the ultimate goal of accumulation.
There is a longing for the White to come forth, to speak a new hope into the realm of the dispossessed beginning to occupy the public squares; the cobbled together meeting places, clamoring inarticulately for a better way. The White has been silent for too long. Its voice is barely remembered. It is like a word on the tip of the tongue one fails to grasp. Then, when one least expects, it suddenly burst forth, and White is remembered and believed. This is the only thing the Black fears.
Let this be the cry; Remember the White.
This is the failure of both the Red and the Blue factions. The limitations of their private vision elude them obscuring the wisdom of the other and the foolishness of the self. They cannot hear the other not because they are deaf, but because of the belief there is nothing to learn.
The dragons of the Black are not hindered by this dilemma. The single mindedness of their devotion concerns itself only superficially, if at all, with the discussion of right or wrong. The bottom line is always the bottom line. All things must come under subjection to it. Mercy is only a viable option if it serves the ultimate goal of accumulation.
There is a longing for the White to come forth, to speak a new hope into the realm of the dispossessed beginning to occupy the public squares; the cobbled together meeting places, clamoring inarticulately for a better way. The White has been silent for too long. Its voice is barely remembered. It is like a word on the tip of the tongue one fails to grasp. Then, when one least expects, it suddenly burst forth, and White is remembered and believed. This is the only thing the Black fears.
Let this be the cry; Remember the White.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
The Hall of Wizards
The hall of wizards is in an uproar, divided Red and Blue. They raise their fists across the aisle shouting accusations, hurling counter spells until nobody knows what confusion their magic brings.
In secret chambers upon the great wall gleeful hands are rubbed together. Overlords assure one another. “The fools,” said the fattest. “Let them argue. Let them believe their own lies. Let them fill their grubby pockets with our leavings. As long as they are at each other’s throats they leave ours alone. Always have we profited. Always has our secret incantation been proclaimed. Let the Red and Blue squabble among themselves. The tentacles of our dragons continue to multiply, search out ever more pockets. We continue to prosper. It is good to be in the Black.”
“Hail the Black.”
“Oh yes. Hail we Black wizards.”
And all their bellies shook as they roared out, “Hail the Black wizards.”
“What of the White? They attempt to stir the rabble.”
“Let them stir. It will be a weak broth. None believe in the White. Without belief their spells amount to nothing.
In secret chambers upon the great wall gleeful hands are rubbed together. Overlords assure one another. “The fools,” said the fattest. “Let them argue. Let them believe their own lies. Let them fill their grubby pockets with our leavings. As long as they are at each other’s throats they leave ours alone. Always have we profited. Always has our secret incantation been proclaimed. Let the Red and Blue squabble among themselves. The tentacles of our dragons continue to multiply, search out ever more pockets. We continue to prosper. It is good to be in the Black.”
“Hail the Black.”
“Oh yes. Hail we Black wizards.”
And all their bellies shook as they roared out, “Hail the Black wizards.”
“What of the White? They attempt to stir the rabble.”
“Let them stir. It will be a weak broth. None believe in the White. Without belief their spells amount to nothing.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
In the old days dragons hid in the dark recesses of the earth guarding their hoard of ill-gotten treasure. Today they sit on their treasure and gloat in broad daylight. Those of the occupy movement are the peasants with their pitch forks and torches, slightly amusing to the ruling class until the rabble become too much of a nuisance at which point the king’s men are called out to disperse them.
I don’t know where the dragon slayers are. The only one I know is Ralph Nadir and he is getting to old even to tilt at windmills.
The church, as usual seems to have taken residence with the dragon. They drink tea together lamenting days gone by when the rabble seemed to know their place.
I don’t know where the dragon slayers are. The only one I know is Ralph Nadir and he is getting to old even to tilt at windmills.
The church, as usual seems to have taken residence with the dragon. They drink tea together lamenting days gone by when the rabble seemed to know their place.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Woops
July 8, 2010
Avascular necrosis is the death of bone tissue due to a lack of blood supply. Also called osteonecrosis, avascular necrosis can lead to tiny breaks in the bone and the bone's eventual collapse.
For reasons unknown, I have it and I could be on crutches for months. Let me express a great big crapola.
July 10, 2010
I’ve been wrestling with God all my life. I suppose it was only a matter of time before touched my hip.
Avascular necrosis.
It’s the death of bone tissue due to lack of blood. In more graphic layman’s terms, I’ve got a hip joint rotting in my left leg. It is extremely painful if I walk on it. It’s painful just to sand up, to move to joint at all. I’m taking vicadin, however you spell it for the pain. I’ve been on some kind of painkiller for six month now so I’m not sure how it would feel au natural, but I get twinges just sitting. So I’ve had a stroke. I’ve got a couple tears in my rotator cuff, a hernia, and now this.
A friend of mine would ask me, “What is God saying to you in all this?” Jackie thinks He’s telling me to finish my novel. For me, that came through loud and clear with the stroke. So other than things don’t necessarily only come in threes, I’m not really sure.
I am avoiding talking about the good possibilities, like after the touch comes the blessing. Maybe He’s about to bless my socks off and He’s telling me to get ready. I’ve been reminding Him a lot these days He promised not to give me anything to heavy to bear. Maybe he’s telling me I can carry a lot more than I think I can carry. Wait. Now that I think about it, that doesn’t fall into the good things category.
July 13, 2010
I’ve been dreaming of a new life. Me and Jackie chucking it all and movingt to Italy. Perhaps understandable since the life I’m living now involves all my recent medical irregularities. The newest one is my left hip joint beginning to rot inside my leg. Unfortunately this is not an exzadurate. The medical term is avascular nacrosis. It’s the death of bone tissue due to insufficient amounts of blood leading to deterioration and eventual collapse. In some cases, with treatment the bone can regenerate. At the other end you get a new hip. So I could be on my way to becoming bionic.
July 20, 2010
So what I actually have is called an impingement on my left hip. I also have one on my right hip but that’s not bothering me now. They’re going to treat it with a shot of steroids to the hip joint. If I was younger they would do arthroscopy surgery a shave the little lump of bone that’s screwing things up but, apparently, in us old folks, it has a tendency to make thing worse. So I have to get the shot every six months or so.
I’m scheduled for the injection on Aug 11. It’s a tricky shot and the have to do it through radiology so the can see were to place it. I forgot to ask the implication of getting radiated every six months. Right now I’ll assume it a very low level dose and I don’t have to worry about it.
They said I can’t do damage by walking on it and I’m under no restriction so, if I can stand the pain, I’m allowed to do it, which means I’m off the crutches. I’m going to try walking for a day or two and if that works I’m going to try a go back to work.
This is all very good news as the alternative is a new hip and six months of rehab before I could work. With this, I could be back to work in a few days and at worst in about a month.
Woo hoo, praise God, and all that good stuff.
Avascular necrosis is the death of bone tissue due to a lack of blood supply. Also called osteonecrosis, avascular necrosis can lead to tiny breaks in the bone and the bone's eventual collapse.
For reasons unknown, I have it and I could be on crutches for months. Let me express a great big crapola.
July 10, 2010
I’ve been wrestling with God all my life. I suppose it was only a matter of time before touched my hip.
Avascular necrosis.
It’s the death of bone tissue due to lack of blood. In more graphic layman’s terms, I’ve got a hip joint rotting in my left leg. It is extremely painful if I walk on it. It’s painful just to sand up, to move to joint at all. I’m taking vicadin, however you spell it for the pain. I’ve been on some kind of painkiller for six month now so I’m not sure how it would feel au natural, but I get twinges just sitting. So I’ve had a stroke. I’ve got a couple tears in my rotator cuff, a hernia, and now this.
A friend of mine would ask me, “What is God saying to you in all this?” Jackie thinks He’s telling me to finish my novel. For me, that came through loud and clear with the stroke. So other than things don’t necessarily only come in threes, I’m not really sure.
I am avoiding talking about the good possibilities, like after the touch comes the blessing. Maybe He’s about to bless my socks off and He’s telling me to get ready. I’ve been reminding Him a lot these days He promised not to give me anything to heavy to bear. Maybe he’s telling me I can carry a lot more than I think I can carry. Wait. Now that I think about it, that doesn’t fall into the good things category.
July 13, 2010
I’ve been dreaming of a new life. Me and Jackie chucking it all and movingt to Italy. Perhaps understandable since the life I’m living now involves all my recent medical irregularities. The newest one is my left hip joint beginning to rot inside my leg. Unfortunately this is not an exzadurate. The medical term is avascular nacrosis. It’s the death of bone tissue due to insufficient amounts of blood leading to deterioration and eventual collapse. In some cases, with treatment the bone can regenerate. At the other end you get a new hip. So I could be on my way to becoming bionic.
July 20, 2010
So what I actually have is called an impingement on my left hip. I also have one on my right hip but that’s not bothering me now. They’re going to treat it with a shot of steroids to the hip joint. If I was younger they would do arthroscopy surgery a shave the little lump of bone that’s screwing things up but, apparently, in us old folks, it has a tendency to make thing worse. So I have to get the shot every six months or so.
I’m scheduled for the injection on Aug 11. It’s a tricky shot and the have to do it through radiology so the can see were to place it. I forgot to ask the implication of getting radiated every six months. Right now I’ll assume it a very low level dose and I don’t have to worry about it.
They said I can’t do damage by walking on it and I’m under no restriction so, if I can stand the pain, I’m allowed to do it, which means I’m off the crutches. I’m going to try walking for a day or two and if that works I’m going to try a go back to work.
This is all very good news as the alternative is a new hip and six months of rehab before I could work. With this, I could be back to work in a few days and at worst in about a month.
Woo hoo, praise God, and all that good stuff.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Fear And Trembling
Jackie, my wife, has encouraged me to write about this depression thing with out a censor, so if your squeamish or the sensitive type or easily upset by foul language you probably shouldn’t click the link for my blog, or if you did, you should probably quit reading now.
I can feel my throat tightening as I think about doing this and anger welling up. I’ve learned to be sociably acceptable, to tone myself down and sanitize my language, for my Christian brothers and sisters yes, but also for the rest of the population. Some of this is good, trying not to offend my weaker brother or sister or children.
The reality of me, Mike Lipuma, Christian man, is not pretty. Don’t get me wrong. I know I am redeemed, loved by God, but I am not talking about that side of me right now. I am talking about the side of me that makes it a good thing for me His mercies are new every morning.
Just a bit ago I wrote something to post on Facebook, a simple little statement, and several words were misspelled. (In the interest of clarity I will be censoring that part of me that can’t spell) Anyway, in my endeavor to get into the uncensoring mood, this rift of familiar condemnation went through my head wondering what the fuck I thought I was doing, trying to write when I still spelled like an imbecile, something like that, fucking imbecile was there.
Now I’m spiraling into something about shutting my mouth because I really don’t have anything to say and it’s all a bunch of narcissistic bullshit and I ought to quit bothering people. That bothering thing has been with me for a long time. Every time I want to make a phone call to somebody I know, it’s there, and especially if it’s somebody I want to know. (I’m re-reading this now and I caught myself thinking, God, how pathetic) When I see two people talking, it doesn’t matter where, it’s always a battle to get myself to say something. The idea of what I have to say not being important enough to speak, I’ve had to learn to circumvent. These days it’s a God thing that allows me to open my mouth. My thinking goes this way. God made me to be who I am and to be visible in the world, to speak what is true for me. When I do not speak the truth in love, I am telling God to go fuck Himself because I refuse to be used. Speaking is an act of obedience for me. It is, by the way, a sobering and humbling thing to admit I tell God to go fuck Himself on a regular basis. Maybe I don’t use those words, but you know what they say; actions speak louder.
Every once in a while I tell God things would be a lot easier if He would arrange to put a stray bullet in my head, or maybe a car accident, most typically after a fight with my wife after one of us has said something no spouse should say to the other one. Sometimes I am just so tired of struggling to be alive that a bullet seems like a viable option. Don’t get all freaked out now. I’ve always been too much of a chicken shit to kill myself and if I haven’t done it by now I’m not going to.
I feel like such a cliché now, a whiney little fuck.
Sometimes I wish I could just weep. Sometimes I think if I start I’ll never stop. Sometimes I think I’m not worth the tears. Christianity is sometime such a paradox for me. It gives me hope, but it doesn’t necessarily get rid of the despair. I so want to leave that behind. There is talk of the “now” and the “not yet;” the not yet of the coming kingdom and the now of living through the process of getting there.
In the now we get glimpses of the not yet in the Amish community in Pennsylvania befriending the wife of the man who murdered their children, or in my church helping us out with our mortgage while I convelesce from my stroke, in people like Desmond Tutu leading the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa, or the part Christianity played in the Solidarity Movement in Poland or the Civil Rights Movement here.
I’m sure I don’t have to mention examples of the other side of the coin. You can come up with enough places where the world and its people are broken all on your own. If you are willing to look, you can find the places where you’re broken. There are plenty of times in life when it is appropriate to weep. I think we all have much to grieve. After all, it is in the now with all it’s fucked up shit that we all have to live. Before conversion I used live trying to make sure things didn’t suck much more than they already did before I died.
I’ve been a Christian for at least twenty years now, all that time learning how to hope and not lean on my own understanding of things, to understand that my despair is not the truth about how things are. Christianity is not opposed to the concept of the yin and yang. My despair, which I despised with a powerful hatred for a very long time, I have learned, is also a coin with two sides. It’s like the theory of relativity: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. As much as I have despaired, so I am capable of that much hope. As much as I have felt abandon, it is with that much sureness I am found.
I don’t know if despair and sorrow is where everybody’s art comes from, but it is the source of mine. Slowly I learn to see beauty and hope, that my despair is the mirror I see through dimly. But in the now, the sorrow will always be there, it is the cross I am commanded to pick up. It is the weight giving the rest of my life substance. There is a book I’ve called the most terrible, beautiful novel I’ve ever read. It is called The Last Of The Just. It was written after World War II by Andre Schwarz-Bart, a French Jew trying to come to terms why so many willingly walked into the gas chambers.
Christianity is like that, terrible and beautiful at the same time. Some one said, “Life is hard if you do it right.” I don’t know where my next statement is, theologically, so keep that in mind. I don’t think Christianity is for everybody. If you want a nice easy life with no troubles, my advice is for you is to run the other way as fast as you can. On the other hand, if you want something real and you're willing to put up with some shit, I don’t know a better place to find it. Keep in mind; it’s not no bed of roses. Biblically speaking, there are very few out right commands; you know, do this, don’t do that. One of them is, “Work out your salvation in fear and trembling.” Note it is in present tense. Now. In fear and trembling. Doesn’t that make you just want to jump on board?
I can feel my throat tightening as I think about doing this and anger welling up. I’ve learned to be sociably acceptable, to tone myself down and sanitize my language, for my Christian brothers and sisters yes, but also for the rest of the population. Some of this is good, trying not to offend my weaker brother or sister or children.
The reality of me, Mike Lipuma, Christian man, is not pretty. Don’t get me wrong. I know I am redeemed, loved by God, but I am not talking about that side of me right now. I am talking about the side of me that makes it a good thing for me His mercies are new every morning.
Just a bit ago I wrote something to post on Facebook, a simple little statement, and several words were misspelled. (In the interest of clarity I will be censoring that part of me that can’t spell) Anyway, in my endeavor to get into the uncensoring mood, this rift of familiar condemnation went through my head wondering what the fuck I thought I was doing, trying to write when I still spelled like an imbecile, something like that, fucking imbecile was there.
Now I’m spiraling into something about shutting my mouth because I really don’t have anything to say and it’s all a bunch of narcissistic bullshit and I ought to quit bothering people. That bothering thing has been with me for a long time. Every time I want to make a phone call to somebody I know, it’s there, and especially if it’s somebody I want to know. (I’m re-reading this now and I caught myself thinking, God, how pathetic) When I see two people talking, it doesn’t matter where, it’s always a battle to get myself to say something. The idea of what I have to say not being important enough to speak, I’ve had to learn to circumvent. These days it’s a God thing that allows me to open my mouth. My thinking goes this way. God made me to be who I am and to be visible in the world, to speak what is true for me. When I do not speak the truth in love, I am telling God to go fuck Himself because I refuse to be used. Speaking is an act of obedience for me. It is, by the way, a sobering and humbling thing to admit I tell God to go fuck Himself on a regular basis. Maybe I don’t use those words, but you know what they say; actions speak louder.
Every once in a while I tell God things would be a lot easier if He would arrange to put a stray bullet in my head, or maybe a car accident, most typically after a fight with my wife after one of us has said something no spouse should say to the other one. Sometimes I am just so tired of struggling to be alive that a bullet seems like a viable option. Don’t get all freaked out now. I’ve always been too much of a chicken shit to kill myself and if I haven’t done it by now I’m not going to.
I feel like such a cliché now, a whiney little fuck.
Sometimes I wish I could just weep. Sometimes I think if I start I’ll never stop. Sometimes I think I’m not worth the tears. Christianity is sometime such a paradox for me. It gives me hope, but it doesn’t necessarily get rid of the despair. I so want to leave that behind. There is talk of the “now” and the “not yet;” the not yet of the coming kingdom and the now of living through the process of getting there.
In the now we get glimpses of the not yet in the Amish community in Pennsylvania befriending the wife of the man who murdered their children, or in my church helping us out with our mortgage while I convelesce from my stroke, in people like Desmond Tutu leading the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa, or the part Christianity played in the Solidarity Movement in Poland or the Civil Rights Movement here.
I’m sure I don’t have to mention examples of the other side of the coin. You can come up with enough places where the world and its people are broken all on your own. If you are willing to look, you can find the places where you’re broken. There are plenty of times in life when it is appropriate to weep. I think we all have much to grieve. After all, it is in the now with all it’s fucked up shit that we all have to live. Before conversion I used live trying to make sure things didn’t suck much more than they already did before I died.
I’ve been a Christian for at least twenty years now, all that time learning how to hope and not lean on my own understanding of things, to understand that my despair is not the truth about how things are. Christianity is not opposed to the concept of the yin and yang. My despair, which I despised with a powerful hatred for a very long time, I have learned, is also a coin with two sides. It’s like the theory of relativity: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. As much as I have despaired, so I am capable of that much hope. As much as I have felt abandon, it is with that much sureness I am found.
I don’t know if despair and sorrow is where everybody’s art comes from, but it is the source of mine. Slowly I learn to see beauty and hope, that my despair is the mirror I see through dimly. But in the now, the sorrow will always be there, it is the cross I am commanded to pick up. It is the weight giving the rest of my life substance. There is a book I’ve called the most terrible, beautiful novel I’ve ever read. It is called The Last Of The Just. It was written after World War II by Andre Schwarz-Bart, a French Jew trying to come to terms why so many willingly walked into the gas chambers.
Christianity is like that, terrible and beautiful at the same time. Some one said, “Life is hard if you do it right.” I don’t know where my next statement is, theologically, so keep that in mind. I don’t think Christianity is for everybody. If you want a nice easy life with no troubles, my advice is for you is to run the other way as fast as you can. On the other hand, if you want something real and you're willing to put up with some shit, I don’t know a better place to find it. Keep in mind; it’s not no bed of roses. Biblically speaking, there are very few out right commands; you know, do this, don’t do that. One of them is, “Work out your salvation in fear and trembling.” Note it is in present tense. Now. In fear and trembling. Doesn’t that make you just want to jump on board?
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