Fire

This thing is like a fire, with unwitting hands tending it.

Grand expectations to begin, of warmth and light, to be entranced by the movements, the chemical reaction taking place, releasing vapors visible and tangible, though it cannot be held, it will linger in your clothes and your hair, the smell of smoke reviving the memory of such primal convenience.

Grand expectations and unwitting hands. Start slow. Gather twigs, harvest the lint of weekly routine. Start small and slow. Give it heat, give it a pulse and a life, let it grow. 

Sure enough flames spring up, something like flowers, some sense of life, of newness and freshness, something that will grow. Unwitting hands smother. Threw the log on too soon, the fire not hot enough, pressed in at the wrong time, either too early or too late? Too much at once. Couldn't let it grow and burn hot. Too eager and impatient. Fumbling with the timber and twigs, turning them over, removing the big pieces, charred and already spent without reaching their full potential, backpedaling as smoke fills the air and stings my eyes, chokes my throat.

From embers to ash too soon. Someone might have thought something larger had happened when it's nothing more than a smoke and wood. Wait for it to dwindle. Start over.

Grand expectations. Of fire like a community. Huge and bright. Drawing people, weary travelers, to find others of like mind, sharing in this thing. I place pieces of myself into it, others might too. An offering of sorts, of struggle and life, of love, of confusions and sadness. If I could be patient and sure. The fire still in their minds, and the scent and evidence of it in their clothes, taking it with them even as they leave, some maybe even burned and seared by it, lessons only learned when the hand is burned.

Maybe it's all too pretentious, maybe it's too much to wish for, maybe I'm not as capable as I wish I was. But who can resist the draw of fire? I've dived into the full blown blaze of others, or the humble, small but well kept hearths of others, been burned and marked, and wanting to explore it and make it myself.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

The Sound of Nothing.

One morning in November I woke up to the sound of nothing. I felt no heavy weight or dread of the day. I was fully awake for just one small moment before I opened my eyes. And as I opened them, the first thought I had was, "I don't believe in God."

It caught me off guard to say the least. When you spend 4 years of your life struggling and wrestling, pursuing and pondering, falling and rising, searching and praying for some connection, some change, some anything from or with God, you'd think I had at least formed some special endurance. Or that enough tension had built so that I'd have some climactic breakdown where I finally completely and totally lose my shit. But I woke up, and that was my very first thought for the day, followed by a small audible sigh of relief.

Beyond that small relief I felt very little. I felt rather removed from myself, and quite curious as to the implications of this new thought, if any. I still don't know what those implications are, I have a slow brain, and I suspect it will take a fair bit of unraveling. I never really felt like writing about this in a blog until today. I did not want some grand facebook status update renouncing my faith, it did not seem necessary, and still does not. But perhaps there is some worth in just writing things down. Maybe someone cares? I dunno.

So I'm not a christian anymore. And that's a strange thought, because it's all I've ever known. I barely ever figured out what it ever meant to be a christian, or what it looks like, and now I'm suddenly starting all over. I wish I could say I had a less selfish reason for deciding I don't believe in God. Many people have a plethora of moral and social issues with it all, or have been burdened by the church. I've never really had a problem with the church. It's never been perfect, but the communities I was apart of always seemed to be in the right mindset, and moving and acting with authenticity and love.

What it comes down to, really, is I never connected. I never felt change. I never knew God. I never saw the fruits I was supposed to bear. There was no transformation. Not even progress. Always stagnant, always stuck, always confused. The small moments where I felt like I was onto something, where I thought the spirit was moving in me and doing things, were just as fleeting as any other pleasure or emotion that I experience.

So I suppose the reason I bring this all up, is to say that I sometimes wish I still did believe in it. And there may come a day when I find myself in that spot of believing again. Life is still so unbearably confusing and absurdly daunting at times that I wish there really was someone moving in the universe who had my best interests in mind, who loved me and I knew it, who helped me when I needed it. But prayer always brought disappointment, and I used it as a crutch to do nothing about myself or my circumstances. I know that's not what prayer is there for, but like I said, I never could quite grasp any of this. So today is one of those days that I wish I could believe it. I cannot. And that kind of blows.

Gabriel

Greetings, I come in peace.

I've been getting out of my own head lately; pondering what it might mean and look like to be there for the people I care about. Because if I'm honest I haven't been there for mostly anyone over the past 3 years.

Depression is an incredibly preoccupying thing. I find an odd glory in the darkness of my thoughts that only blackens them further, weaves the gloom tighter, soft as silk, it almost becomes a pleasure to wear. In all that there is to care about in the world, I only care for myself, and I only care to hate myself. Just the worst kind of selfishness. However, in recent months I have had an abnormal streak of lighter days with only a few heavy ones scattered about. While I have my speculations of why this has come about, they are not for this post. But in the thinning of all thoughts directed towards myself, my eyes have rolled from the back of my head, and finally pointed outward. I have begun to notice those around me.

It's an alien experience to see you all moving and living.

So I wonder what it means to be there for people. While I'm sure there have been some people there for me as I've drifted about in my head space, I was far too transfixed staring into the utter depths of whatever my human soul might be to notice them. In all that staring I haven't come up with anything useful. Neither for me or anyone else. Seeing people drift about in their own head spaces, in their sorrow or joy, pain and doubt, I wish I could be there for them. I wish I knew how to connect. I wish I knew the right things to say, and if there is nothing to say, then the right things to do, or the right person to be.

I suppose it could be just another form of selfishness, worrying too much about all the ways I cannot be there for people instead of just forgetting myself for a few moments and being there for someone. I am new at this, so maybe it's a thing you can learn and develop over time. I hope so, because I certainly wasn't born with any credible skills in empathy or sympathy.

Sorry for being a mediocre friend, everyone. I'm working on it.

Gabriel

Sally is actually Sandy

I don't like new years. Along with everything else I have opinions on, my opinion for new years is wet with apathy and cynicism. WET. Just sopping. Anyways, here's some random thoughts about this year, some of them not so soggy.

Jan-April is sort of a black hole of depression in my mind where I remember very few things. I did meet one of my favorite people in MN/world in March-ish(?). Shout out to D-Cat Davis.

In May the sound of jazz pulled me from said black hole and it was glorious.

In June I moved into a house with a bunch of people I didn't know, some of them have since moved out and been replaced by others, but I truly love it here and the people I live with.

July-Spetember is all kind of bland in my brain for some reason. Something neat might have happened, but not neat enough to remember.

In October I got kicked out of a country, met another favorite human who now plays drums in Ancient Mariner, and felt very displaced during a brief visit to CO.

In November the morning didn't roar. I awoke to the sound of nothing.

In December I found out I have been calling one of my regular customers the wrong name since I returned from my month hiatus in October. New Years resolution: figure out how to remember people's names.

Here's one of my favorite songs I heard all year:

That's also probably my favorite album of the year, but I didn't have the money to buy most of the music I wanted to, so who knows what I missed out on?

My favorite non-Tolkien book I read was East Of Eden. It blew my gourd. Thou mayest.

I read the Silmarillion for the first time, not as daunting as I expected, way more beautiful than I thought it would be.

I asked out a total of 2 ladies. Both said yes. I went on zero dates.

I wrote lots of songs, and threw away most of them. Of the ones I kept, most will be part of a full length album I hope to have written by March.

That's my year. Here's to the next one I guess? Tomorrow is just another day.

Gabriel

Peanut Butter Super Volcano

I like peanut butter. 

For those who don't know me, this is a pretty radical thing. For those who do know me, they probably still wouldn't notice how radical it is because it's overall kind of trivial and silly, and therefor one of the things that my mind chooses to analyze and retell over and over to everyone because I think it's important.

It's radical because I've hated peanut butter for the last 17 years of my life. I remember very vividly eating a PBJ when I was 5-ish and thinking, "I hate this" and I never looked back. I had eaten it maybe twice since then, and it was on backpacking trips when I'm not allowed to complain about food selections. Then, last week, I felt an odd craving for that suffocating substance that millions adore. I knew exactly where I could get it with little personal sacrifice(I'm poor) and test this craving.

When I got home I raided my housemate's cupboard for peanut butter and honey and made a sandwich that felt a lot like betrayal to who I was, and tasted a lot like freedom.

The next day I was consumed again by craving, and for the last 3 hours of work it was all I could think about. Peanut butter. I could taste it on my tongue. I had awoken some dormant hunger that was now surging and rising, an unstoppable super volcano of terrifying power that would tear me apart if I didn't get it immediately. Such is the nature of cravings, even for something as inconsequential as peanut butter.

I spent my tips that day on a loaf of bread and the first jar of PB that I would ever purchase.

I used to hate coffee too. It was a different sort of scenario. I wanted to like coffee(unlike peanut butter) because it smelled good and I'd probably feel cool while drinking it. And boy do I. But I remember a friend telling me that I would only start enjoying coffee when I absolutely needed it. The first cup of coffee I ever enjoyed was before my 3rd straight opening shift at Panera. Nothing ever tasted so good or hopeful at 5 in the morning.

I had pondered forcing myself to eat peanut butter before, whether I liked it or not, simply because it's cheap, filling, apparently at least sort of good for you, and I'd like to not die of hunger this winter. I doubt it would have lasted though. Knowing that I need something isn't enough for me. I have to want it, as much as I wanted to love coffee. My pining for coffee meant nothing 'til I felt the urgent need for it.

Necessity and longing very rarely meet with equal power and passion in my mind, and I remain static and unchanged because of it. I've had peanut butter every day since last monday, and every day I approach it with caution, feeling slightly giddy and slightly ashamed as I spread the peanut butter across my bread. The first bite is always very skeptical, and each one that follows becomes a little less so as hunger leaves my body.

As usual I have no idea how to tie this up, but I have this stupid analogy and I feel like I should ride it till it falls, and then beat the snot out of it, because that's what blogging is all about! I've been trying to change who I am for 3 years, to become someone better. Inspired and inspiring, good inside and out. I can't grasp it. The results taste like bitter coffee and stick like peanut butter, constricting the mouth, and I'm tired of trying. There's little sense of need anymore, and my longings lay in idle hands.

Gabriel

Swirl Cone

This is a picture of my brain.

It looks pleasant enough, but that swirl cone is actually a torrent of chocolate-y self hate and sweet vanilla self pity on a cheap cone of sarcasm that tastes like nothing. And I suppose for the purposes of fully utilizing the picture, we'll say the red backround is my murderous rage or insatiable hunger for enchiladas.

I think on the outside I'm a pretty indifferent human being(and on the inside just a bit... maybe that's what the cone is made of... indifference). I do my best to avoid confrontation and drama. I seem to emit 2 emotions, one sounds like laughter and comes from feelings of delight, and the other is a quiet brooding that makes me look super thoughtful. Otherwise I'm a robot. But on the inside is this hilarious soap opera of enormous emotional anxiety where I'm surely always the victim. I exaggerate my struggles and circumstances greatly in my brain, and sometimes in conversation with those unlucky humans who are close to me.

I doubt I'm the only person who does this, but my swirl cone brain combats these thoughts of victimization(v for vanilla) with things like "Hey idiot, stop feeling bad for yourself, there are so many people with worse problems than you!". Vanilla then responds with things like "Gah! You're right, I AM an idiot! Woe is me and my general state of being!".  Then an extra fun level of irony(maybe rainbow sprinkles?) sets on where I pity my problems of self pity and self hate and write an absurd blog about it. None of it makes any sense and it makes a huge mess. But at least it tastes like ice cream.

I don't really have a takeaway for this. I've never been a swirl cone guy in reality. Simplicity tastes better to me.  Maybe whatever dispenses my soul/brain/heart ice cream will break from overuse and only spew out one flavor, and then I can deal with that head on. That sounds an awful lot like hitting rock bottom and I don't know what that looks like for me. Which is terrifying, but apparently good things can happen afterwards.

Or maybe someone could spill a bunch of strawberry flavoring into my dispensary and something totally new and awesome could come out. Red like the blood of Christ. BOOM. I'm so clever. The cone is for cleverness.

But the ice cream dispenser seems to be sealed shut and running at unprecedented levels, and self glorified sarcastic cleverness just makes you look like an ass.

Till next time
Vomit Swirl Cone Gabriel

Vomit Gabriel

Hey! Have we met? I'm Gabriel.

I grew up as a christian, which basically means nothing other than I have a slightly heightened level of paranoia and a fair amount to ponder with my delightfully over analytical brain. Oh the times we've had together!

Quick note before I move on, Doubting Thomas by Nickel Creek just came on. Whatever THAT means.

I don't believe in God about 50% of the time. And this isn't a thing to try and prove or disprove His existence, cause frankly that bores me. But I still have the mind to capitalize the "h" in "His", so I'm not a total heathen just yet. Who knows what would happen if I didn't use the due punctuation there?

My main issue with this... issue... is that I'm sitting at that 50% mark. I almost don't care whether I'm right or wrong. I'd just like to commit to one side fully, cause the middle ground is exhausting. Nobody likes dudes in the middle ground. I sure don't. Jesus doesn't seem to. Revelation 3:16 "So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I am going to vomit you out of My mouth."

Let me just say that I truly love that my translation says "vomit". I always heard "spit" growing up, this gives it an extra smack(ew) of intensity. I think logically the easier thing for me to do is to just go the opposite way of religion or spirituality or whatever. Turns out that's kind of tricky, because I totally tried that this past winter. I disintegrate into an even lamer version of myself that seems even more lukewarm rather than "hot". Or "cold". Or whatever "not christian" is on the temperature scale.

I think if I ever came to a point where I actually decided to renounce everything I believe, I would just settle in for a long nap til the robocalypse briefly awakens then ends me. What else would I do? Go on a sex rampage? Burn something down? Cure cancer with my finally liberated brain? Fight... crime for the sake of... science? I'm not hot or cold enough for those things. Really worse things could happen if God isn't real. We die and that's it. I can handle that. It's the living up until that point that I have trouble grappling with. In my mind, everything would in the long run be totally pointless. And because I am the absurd human that I am, I would probably end up taking that leave to be a total asshole for the rest of my life.

So what I can say about being a Christian on the flip side of its hefty frustrations, is that I know what I am when I'm not trying to pursue faith. I'm even more lazy, disloyal, dishonest, depressed and unfathomably apathetic. I'm still not sure what I am in Jesus, because I never seem to be able to connect at the level I observe my brothers and sisters connecting. So far it seems I'm at least a more tolerable version of myself, which is probably better for those around me. And I have the need to be better to those around me when I'm the tolerable version of myself, because I sort of feel like there's a point to it all. God or Whatever. So for now, that's where I'm at.

All the sinceres,
(Vomit)Gabriel