Old and Dusty Things

Here are a few from Puerto Rico that I failed to post...weeks...ago...

straw hat
the smell of coffee beans
he leans as he speaks
------------
plantation stroll
'the beans are not ripe yet'
soft hum of machinery

I visited Hacienda de San Pedro in Jayuya, PR, one of two primary coffee-growing provinces. This was one of the plantations, and it was a beautiful, sunny day in a rural green valley when I was there. The coffee was out of this world, and cheap, so I appropriately maximized the situation and crushed five lattes/machiatos within two hours as I sat talking to the plantation owner and a regular in the cafe, after the tour. Both had excellent mustaches and became even more loud and jovial after shots of a homemade underneath-the-counter coffee liquor.

steady dripping
the chirping of bats - suddenly!
a bright expanse

The morning of, I went caving in central PR. The access was easy: a short 15-minute jaunt in a sylvan, green wood. It led to two separate caves. The superior one, Cueva Ventana, is described in the above haiku. It was absolutely breathtaking. And once again, I was so frustrated I didn't have a camera. Oh well, someone else did. Here they are:

Since this post is reporting things old, I'll share a quote from an old book I'm rereading. If I would recommend any nonfiction book, I would recommend The Imitation of Christ, by Thomas a Kempis. A monk in the Dutch order the Brethren of the Common Life, this classic work is so dense and rich with truth and instruction in strengthening godliness, receiving grace, building virtue and overcoming vice. Other books are more enjoyable, interesting, or appealing perhaps, but the words in this book have such a heavy weight of value and meaning that it sets it far above others (in my opinion).


"[On the last day], every trial borne in patience will be pleasing and the voice of iniquity stilled; the devout will be glad; the irreligious will mourn; and the mortified body will rejoice far more than if it had been pampered with every pleasure. Then the cheap garment will shine with splendor and the rich one become faded and worn; the poor cottage will be more praised than the gilded plalace. In that day persevering patience will count more than all the power in this world; simple obedience will be exalted above all worldly cleverness; a good and clean conscience will gladden the heart of man far more than the philosophy of the learned; and contempt for riches will be of more weight than every treasure on earth." (Book I, chapter XXIV)

"I do not desire consolation that robs me of contrition, nor do I care for contemplation that leads to pride, for not all that is high is holy, nor is all that is sweet good, nor every desire pure, nor all that is dear to us pleasing to God. I accept willingly the grace whereby I become more humble and contrite, more willing to renounce self." (Book II, chapter X)

two from El Yunque, Puerto Rico

frog chirps interrupt

the sound of rushing streams

and waterfalls

the highest peak

clouds blanket our ascent

and oh! the wind!

Good Friday 2012

full moon
warm breeze through my hair
conflicting desires

-------------

years go by...
He is ever the same
so I may change

Words and pictures

Last time I dated a girl, it lasted about four months. It didn’t seem very long. I’ve been on St. John about four months. It seems…very long. I feel like I’ve gotten AT LEAST to second base with St. John (in those morally noble and gentlemanly ways) and so my days off are no longer exploration trips, but instead visits to my favorite places, based on experience and process of elimination – in the future I want to point out some of the more fun things to do on St. John that you may or may not read in a guidebook. Today is for storytime, however. Gather round kids.

There once was a magical place called St. John, where the hiking was of low intensity, low mileage, and high in spectacular vistas. The guts are by far some of the best areas to explore, unless you are elderly, inexperienced, or a daytime-soap-opera type of person. A gut is essentially a carved-out waterway between two mountains where the rains flush through on their way to the ocean. The environment is really undeveloped, rugged, and diverse, and changes dramatically depending on where the gut is and how often its been raining. They are areas that are just teeming with wildlife, due to all the fresh water being carried through and the lack of development and traffic. The gut is sort of like a creek bed filled with massive boulders, fallen trees, and carved-out freshwater pools that can be as deep as 15 feet, as well as some spectacular waterfalls set right in that tropical setting. Along the banks are all sorts of neat fruit-bearing trees, endless green and purple ferns, and smaller tributary creeks contributing to the gut. All sorts of animals chill out in the area: crabs and shrimp and crawdads make a seafood buffet in the pools, dragonflies hover all over, and Jack Spaniards (the local bee flavor) keep you alert, and wild pigs romp around.

 (The beginning of Battery Gut.)

I’ll definitely describe some of the guts specifically in said future post, but this morning I started my day off bright and early by doing Battery Gut (named after a battle between rebellious slaves and their owners back in the day. And no, I haven’t found any spears or muskets in the water…yet). I was joined by a good friend and fellow explorer Andrew, who will probably be making many a guest appearance in future narratives. We’d both already done this gut (its definitely one of the better ones on the island), but due to a heavy period of rain the last week (here, the showers are either 7 minutes or 7 days), we were pretty stoked for all the freshwater pools to be filled and the waterfalls to be a-pourin. We were hiking/scrambling/hopping our way down this rock-strewn gut, but we had to do so cautiously because most of the smaller rocks were slick from the recent rainfall. The bigger ones were drier, so we were aiming our jumps for those boulders (on a previous hike as Andrew did this, a friend asked him, ”Why do you hate your ankles so much?") Its easy to jump seven to ten feet down or across, or both, and places like that tend to bring out the 9-year old boy in most people. 

(Not the 70-foot waterfall - but a great area still. Ends in a nice, deep pool.)

After about an hour, we arrived at a stunning 70-foot waterfall with an astonishing vista-view of the lush green mountains and then onto the ocean. The top of the waterfall had a large shelf about ten feet down where the water collected into this perfectly round, ten foot carved basin and then spilled down another 60 feet into a wider pool. It’s the sort of place that you just have to stop for a little while, as it has the perfect blend of the sublime and the serene, power and peacefulness. Eventually, we pulled ourselves out of the restful reverie and began cautiously scrambling down the waterfall, which was angled at a mostly-comfortable 120 degrees. There were plenty of hand- and foot-holds…in most places. I was most of the way down and was experimenting with an orange-ish bumpy substance near the waterflow that I’d noticed, which had deceivingly terrific traction. I was commenting on this to Andrew as I inched my way down with my hands confidently in my pockets, and he replied that he’d seen it too, but “don’t get it confused with the slimy reddish stuff near it which is really sli-“ and as he finished his sentence (ppery, for the slower audience) my feet started sliding, my arms started windmilling and before you knew it, I was the classic cartoon-on-a-banana-peel just trying to stay upright as I built up speed, careening down the waterfall, and shot off the ten-foot drop-off into the murky pool of unknown depth below! Right before I hit the water at full, uncontrolled speed, I belted out my potentially last words: “MY CAMERA!” Hoping that my legs had better luck than the camera in my back pocket, I splashed into the just-deep enough 3-foot pool of water and popped out deeply relived and slightly shaken (this was a very different experience than my gig as a stunt double for The Last of the Mohicans). 

(This IS the waterfall, from a distance.)

My safe landing gave Andrew permission to laugh hysterically, and we continued to scramble and bounce our way down as the boulders grew bigger, the pools grew deeper, and my confidence once again grew from that of my mother’s to a 9-year-old at recess. Thank goodness, because right before the last section, some kind soul had set up an epic rope swing over a pool, from a boulder a solid 25 feet up. We took turns swinging and jumping and whooping (injury-free, though not without foolishness), and after collecting some delicious-smelling bay rum leaves (which serve as excellent aftershave alternatives), then hitchhiked back and debated whether or not we were created with purpose or, made from chaos, we made it ourselves.

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.” -Jack London

“Live as if Christ died yesterday, rose this morning & is coming back tomorrow.” - Martin Luther

Me, at the deli afterwards: Oh! Chicken pot pie!

Andrew: Dude, those are like my three favorite things!

(This post is dedicated to those who have kept reading, despite my recent posts being somewhat analytical and pessimistic. Its also dedicated to the STUD that put that rope swing up…he must’ve smoked so much dope first. Its also dedicated to Daniel, who did sermon prep instead of joining us. Kid’s got his head on straight.)

So I learned about haikus after I started writing them.

Note: 2 out of 3 of these links are absolutely vile and intellectually subhuman. Mom, don't get ticked at me.

So I read this incredibly informative article on the philosophy behind haikus. And I realized I've been doing  it all wrong, as most of us WASPish public school kids who think any 5-7-5 poem automatically equals what is the ancient and developed Japanese art of contemplative description called 'haiku.' Hmm, a cross-culture miscommunication. Imagine that. Anyhow, I've already been attempting to think and reflect based on these concepts, and so my future haikus will hopefully represent that better than these last two remnants of my ignorant ambition do.

Kevin quit school

Chico sleeps and smokes ganja

Tyrone might make it.

---------------------- 

The dark comes quickly

Sun sinks behind still islands -

I, at rest, at last

The first one is about the young black native community here on the island, and probably back in the States too, from what I understand. Obviously, there are many factors as to why this demographic is struggling in various aspects (ie. lack of father figures/positive male role models, education not being a value, radio rap, etc.), and this poem just reflects on the sad state. It also notes that there are always individuals that can overcome and rise above, finding success (note: constructive, not necessarily Christian however) through hard work, ambition, education, and long-term goals. I see so much potential in Tyrone, and pray for him often.

The second one is about how awesome it is to finish working for the day, and that being in a beautiful environment makes it that much more rich. You settle as the day does; its a neat unity.

---------------

I penned this one in my head as I walked across the street from my apartment to use the free public wifi.

Blaring bar music

The smell of evening marijuana - 

So this is island life.

(This post is dedicated to Alysius, who is graduating college this year with a degree in electrical engineering, Jason Horn, who has been trying to change the lives of kids at Lifeline, and the Tap Room, for having free wifi...for 45 minutes. This post is not dedicated to work, Waka Flocka Flame - watch it at 2:44, and every English teacher who misinformed me about haikus. Its like a literature conspiracy.)

April 8 (Easter brings new life in more ways than one)

constant frustration,
no solutions, no fairness.
my two week's notice.

the end of a stage
the advent of anything.
my two week's notice.

(Dedicated to all the climbing dirtbags at the Red, Greg Mu and funemployment, and my current employer and supervisor.)

Stage 2, Like a Regulator

I know see why half the blogs I follow stopped being updated six months into their genesis, for I too have lost the motivation to blog. With the amount of time and thought that generally goes into it, with the other things I’d rather do, and with the difficulty I have in describing St. John and life in general through the medium of mere words, I am officially acknowledging that I am retiring this report…kind of.

Instead of using little microcosmic stories to tell of my adventures in broader terms, I will now update in another form. One that is probably more helpful to me and my original intentions (see the first post about my miserable memory and Augustine the Jerk), and more elusive to you, O reader.

Last night at work, while waiting for the last people to leave Scott Beach, I gazed out over the quiet sea to watch the burning orange sun setting over St. Thomas, reflecting its yellow and pink hues off of grey-blue clouds. There was such a tranquility about it all, I became very thoughtful and rested, and was able to finalize in my mind something I had been developing for weeks, if not months: a haiku. And then, like the slow but steady incoming of a ship into harbor, I recognized that the medium of the haiku is a wonderful way to (a) think deeply about a person, place, thing, or idea; (b) describe it in its most fundamental essence; (c) trigger my memory of such a thing later on down the road.

           

So henceforth I will (primarily) utilize haikus for the next underdetermined period of time in updated my blog. Some will be merely descriptive, reminding me of the simple things of everyday living; others will be more exploratory and evocative of the deeper truths and mysteries surrounding and inhabiting us. Some may include brief notes, longer explanations, or nothing at all.

Enough with the tomfoolery! Here is the first:

------------

Tides do not advance

Wave upon wave hits the shore

Saved by grace not works

-------------

This haiku, and this haiku project, was rather inspired by a close friend and fellow blogger of mine, who captured much of the same scenario in a haiku he penned.

 -----------------

Were effort success

I’d be proud, exalted…spent

‘Strive to enter rest?’

 -------------------

…God, that’s deep.

(This post is dedicated to everyone who started a blog and didn’t continue it, Andrew Husen, Japan who has haikus and sushi but not Jesus, Zomboy, Paul, and the author of Hebrews, who is not Paul. Dad, you know I’ll win that debate every time!)

Better Late than Never (written yesterday)

It has been awhile, but there may be a sudden spurt of blog posts about various things. Chances are they won’t be quite so long as the previous ones…but I’ve said that in my head every time too.

Before I even arrived in St. John…nay, before I knew I would be coming to St. John, I learned something about the island. Every year, this huge event, second only to Carnival occurs. It’s a race across the entire island: more than eight brutal miles of insanely long and steep hills. At some points, one wonders if it would be more efficient to run on all fours, they are just that steep. For an elevation chart, check this out. And yes, you saw correctly: it climbs to the height of the Empire State Building. Its actually called 8 Tuff Miles. Needless to say, I’m pretty pumped for this race.

I haven’t seriously raced since my last marathon back in 2009, and being in Indiana, the terrain and elevation was prettttttty different (seriously! we might as well be on treadmills!). Its been a good occasion to get back into running on a regular basis, with a regiment, goals, and actual motivation.

The race is in two weeks, and with one week being a taper week, I’m definitely scheduling my last training opportunities. To tweak the old adage, if I “plan to win, I have to know when to plan”…”winning” being a liberal term synonymous with “reaching my goal of a sub-60 minute finish.” I ran a mean hill workout today, tomorrow’s a break day where I’ll slackline and crank a few sets of burpees, Monday I’ll run the course for the third time (best time so far? 62:21.), then I’ll schedule intersperse another hill workout and a tempo run with a couple of light 20-30 minute runs (I’m trying to keep the overall mileage low because this doggone island does WORK on your knees – killer uphills equals steep downhills). And obviously, I’ve managed to revolve my eating habits, my slacklining, my climbing training, and my core/handstand/crossfit-esque workouts around the central issue of running this race. (After the race, I’ll probably eat whatever I want and slackline every day instead of run. Just kidding. Kind of.)

But all of this orientation to one purpose, one event even, got me thinking. Reflecting. Analyzing the other facets of my being…namely my spirituality and what that looks like. Because right now, I don’t want my spiritual life to look like that. In the past, that’s what I strove for and yearned to accomplish: a motivated, regimented, disciplined, goal-oriented life full of ancient practices, intentional community, and borne along by a steady buffet of Bible, biography, theology, and reference works. Surely the same principles would translate over!

The much-abbreviated short of it is, I really want to know what it means to “strive to enter the rest of God.” Self-emptying and Spirit-filling. Because grace is always received. Mercy is always granted. Power comes from “on high.” “Trust in Him, and He will act.” Good. Because frankly, I’m tired. I’ve been trying for a while, and really, I have not changed. My behaviors have been amended at certain times for a duration, but I have always reverted. Every. Single. Time. I am still only me.  

Here’s to a sub-60 8 Tuff Miles.

Here’s to Romans 8 being accomplished in my life.

“The real voyage of discovery and change does not consist in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

- Marcel Proust

(This one is dedicated to Colonel Bryan, Greg Mu, Dr. Dezago, Habakkuk for being the only non-psalmist to use ‘selah,’ and Augustus Gloop.)

A taste of St. John

 So today's lunch at the cafeteria prompted this blog post. First, however, a backstory.


 I enjoy exploring new territory - especially when it involves Risk, Humor, and other such bedfellows of General Folly. Furthermore, I strongly believe that broadening your horizons absolutely involves broadening your waistline, and so dumpster diving, unconventional dishes, edibles plants, and strange, local foods are welcomed as opportunities for new appreciations, understandings, and immune system defenses. (In fact, for my three months of unemployment, most of my food supply came from dumpsters and church potluck leftovers. I affectionally dub it "The Winter Harvest.")


 One of my first ventures in the Virgin Islands was to the local farmer's market, which was a massive letdown. Homemade bread, local honey, and bananas pretty much sums it up (although they do grow a pumpkin down here which is much smaller and much sweeter - its terrific with black beans and a light curry.) 


 Undaunted in my commitment to find something local, my next hope lay in the employee cafeteria (called "The Chatterbox" for good reason - local West Indies have NO concept of volume control...). The first day of work, I strode in and found a decent salad bar, grilled fish, a Cuban-esque rice and bean dish, and STEAK on the menu. "Well, self," I say to myself, "it may not be local, but at least its legit!" The scene fades, and twenty-three and a half hours later, I stride in, with visions of sugarplums, pan-seared tuna, and barbecue ribs dancing in my head. I hop in line, grab a tray, and eagerly scope out my options...and ask for an explanation. I wasn't sure what I was looking at. The hairnet-less lunch lady, beaming with pride, announced my options were salt-fish or pig's feet. SALT FISH OR PIG'S FEET.
After a lunch of cucumbers and lettuce, I resolved to carry a Clif Bar with me every day to work...and I have, to my advantage. I'd be willing to try these dishes/ingredients, but I feel like huge vats made for a cafeteria just isn't going to represent the local cuisine well, and with a main ingredient like that trying to justify itself, you want to give it all the help it can get.


 Most days are pretty good, but today, I snagged chicken fingers. My buddies, however, went with the alternative: a murky brown, gravy-like soup with a few noodles, cornmeal dumplings (as appetizing as it sounds) and HUGE fist-sized hunks of bone with a gelatinous meat-like substance clinging on...yes, brothers and sisters, today's lunch was bull-foot soup.


 I suppose the moral of the story is: "When life gives you lemonade, make lemonade." But in the West Indies Curtis Bowden Translation, it appears: "When life gives you a bull, make bull-foot soup, bull-face soup, and bull-tail soup. Oh, and feel free to do the same with oxen and pigs, and don't forget to use the pig's snout and ears for a nice soup as well."


(This post is dedicated to Andrew Husen, Andrew Not-Husen, and all those lucky porkless religions that don't have to consider eating this trash.)

In which the author becomes more pensive

 If my blog was an eligible young lady, we wouldn't even be casually dating. She'd most likely be frustrated with my lack of commitment and on the verge of severing all ties, but then just in the nick of time I'd write a new post which would rekindle her affections and win her over for another month.


 Before I arrived in St. John, I supposed that I would have all sorts of zany quasi-cross-cultural mishaps and island adventures and profound self-realizations, and the process of updating this blog would begin with a lengthy whittling of topics and events for your short yet satisfying viewing enjoyment. I've certainly had some wacky cultural mishaps (for example, introducing the legendary "purple nurple" to my coworker as he attempted to hijack the golf cart I was driving); my fair share of excitement (I've gone on a few scuba dives up to 15 meters of depth, as well as scouted out numerous deep-water solo climbing spots, sending one and anticipating more); and a hefty dose of self-reflection and maturing (leading weekly worship services tends to remind you of both your great potential and greater need).


 And yet brothers and sister, I've strangely enough felt very little impetus or inspiration to log and share my experiences. Perhaps its not enough of a priority, perhaps I don't know how to articulate the beauty of the islands and the deep blue sea, perhaps its because it doesn't feel all that exceptional. "All that exceptional?!" you say. "Curtis, my dear boy, you're living in paradise! You've stories-a-plenty!" Well yes, but something I've come to realize in many ways (some, rather unfortunate), is that I am the same exact person I was three months ago. Like a tree, I've shed some bark, and many leaves have fallen and regrown, and I am branching out (pun intended, I'm so sorry), but I'm essentially doing the same thing I did in northern Indiana - it just involves a geographic twist. Sort of akin to all those awful CSI spin offs (Miami, New York, Las Vegas, Metropolis, ancient Mesopotamia...), its really the same basic characters with the same basic plot with the same basic mysteries and same seedy romances, just...somewhere else.


 I'm still trying to live life to the fullest. That's what brought me here, and that's why I love it here. I'm also trying to yield myself to the work of the Spirit of God in my life, but a lot of times I actually throw up defensive plays and tricky maneuvers to His transformative grace, and so, I'm also still often frustrated and feeling like a failure and a fool. (That alliteration was for you, Pops.) And then, two or three days later, I decide to read my Bible instead of watch another climbing video or read another comic book or slackline for another hour, and I read an incredible passage like this:

"If there be for [a man] an angel, a mediator, one of the thousand, 

to declare to man what is right for him,

and he is merciful to him, and says,

'Deliver him from going down into the pit; I have found a ransom;

Let his flesh become fresh with youth;

Let him return to the days of his youthful vigor';

then man prays to God, and He accepts him; he sees His face with a shout of joy,

and He restores to man His righteousness.

He sings before men and says:

'I sinned and perverted what was right,

and it was not repaid to me.

He has redeemed my soul from going down into the pit,

and my life shall look upon the light.'

Behold, God does all these things,

twice, three times, with a man,

to bring back his soul from the pit,

that he may lighted with the light of life." 

(Job 33:23-30)

 So here's to living life to the fullest, maximizing your experience, doing what you love, being all there - because He lets us have wonderful thrills and enjoyments, but he also grants us security, peace, and purpose after the thrill is gone. Now go do something awesome, then read your Bible.


(This post dedicated to Chico, Elihu, Paul Lundblad, Jim Elliot, and everyone who still isn't sure how to interpret Job's friends, but still pull sweet verses from their discourses.)