Just cause you feel it, doesn't mean its there

"Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them."
-Psalm 111:2

Its a difficult situation to be in. The space between two spaces. I have started to wonder if this in-limbo-position is precisely where I am supposed to find myself. I think that between two traditions, and I don't mean traditions in the sense that is typically understood, lies the truth. To borrow from MacIntyre, a tradition is a present reality rooted in a past action that is teleological precisely because it has a future. I take this to be the state of mental dispositions that limit and simultaneously de-limit all aspects of action/knowledge rooted in an authorizing power. It's discursive.

It is here that I find myself. In between the in-between. In every sense of the word, I believe myself to be a skeptic. Possibly a mystic as well. God, whose words and actions I ponder in indirect ways, the abstraction of being, I think, presides in this space. This space between traditions acting and partaking in aspects of the two, but also existing precisely in the traditional interaction, this space between two modes of thought.

I call this intercultural spirituality. Please excuse the term. I am aware of the history of colonization that has authorized the present usage of 'culture' or 'civilization' in its exploits, but I use the term for the lack of a better one. Indeed, this 'intercultural spirituality' is a mystical point to be in, but nonetheless, I think this is precisely where I am to be. Moving between and to the limits of discursive knowledge, I find myself skeptical of the types of discourse that authorize our daily thoughts and actions, knowing full well that I am inherently limited. Perhaps in this limitation I am free. Remember, this is neither logical or illogical. It simply is - beyond the "shackles of reason."


Maybe truly being free is the ability to choose your own limitations. And in that sense, Perhaps I am free.

Rescuing myself from cynicism

This update cannot bear the burden of summarizing all of the recent developments in my life since I have last updated. I can confidently say that they have been many and they have been vast, but to that end, I will stop myself from carrying on with the subject.

What I really want to adress is partly vary personal and individual and the same time something I percieve to be very pertinent to the community of people that I would call the Christian community but maybe even on a less parochial scale that of religious communities in general. The article that has encouranged this endeavor is "Studying My Movement: Social Science Without Cynicism" in the Internation Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 40 (2008) by Abdelwahab El-Affindi.

This article, written by a Muslim, is about the ventures of social science into the realm of Middle Eastern studies and the metaphysical/historical/discourse-oriented ramifications of this endeavor with all of its problems and illuminations.

"Having lost their original faith, but not attained a new one, they advocate an agnostic pluralism: let us all drop our claim to the Turth and accept the multiplicity of "truths": let us camp here, over these multiple "planes of activity and praxis," which are "not one topography commanded by a geographical and historical vision."" Here I find myself recalling the work done by Talal Asad and William Connelly, calling into question the underlying themes of modernity and secularism, and hence advocating a paradigmatic pluralism that gives credence to multiple truths. Although, I think that religion was largely the victim of such claims, I am not sure that I disagree, essentially, with this claim. "We are all for pluralism and the self-critical attittude underlying it. I certainly took great careto present my study in such a self-critical mode," says the author of this article. I feel that within the Christian tradition, many have claimed to have a monoply on the truth, a hegemony over interpretation, but few have been willing to be as self-critical as the author has claimed of himself and his own endeavors into the intellectual sphere. While one could attribute this to a feeling of anti-intellectualism current within modern and populist understandings of Christianity and the Christian tradition (and I admit this is largely only applicable to my own understanding in the Western world).

I feel the same pressures in my own faith as the author outlines here. The intellectual/spiritual balance between self-criticism and "rational" logocentric western enlightment ideals as well as that of differring values and systematic approached to understanding life, metaphysics and the like. To be apart of this critical shift is important, but to view this as the author says, "to be apart of this as Muslims."

I agrue the same. To be apart of this world, or as the cliche goes, in this world, we must articulate outselves in a way relevant to recent intellectual endeavours while simultaneously not giving into the hegemony of interpretation, leaving roomn for us to do this as whatever it is that we may be, or ascribe to.

I swear to God that he'll surf

Time creeps up on you, as does responsibility. Today my best friend left to go to school in California. A month and a half ago, I was in Lebanon, unaware that this day would be coming. Now I am aware that I am obviously not in Lebanon, nor is he here, but on his way there. My mother summed it up best in her recent text message to me - "Bittersweet :-("

So now the question remains. Why do we allow time to assail us? Why do we acquiesce our lives over to the violent but often wonderful passage of time. Most moments are over before we are cognizant of their being here - I am self aware. And I, too, regret that fact now and more than likely will again soon as my emotional disposition will soon change causing me to evaluate and become aware of what I have lost, gained, and forgotten.

But I do remember as well, and I smile, and I congratulate Ryan on his new future for the next two years. I am nonetheless excited for him as he experiences new things and wakes up in California to a far away but not necessarily distant life.

Music doesn't treat me like it used to

Its really difficult to articulate the way I feel. At least on most days. I wish everything wasn't so cryptic. Is it possible to master the mind only using the mind? Is it possible to shed this self-awareness in which I move and locate myself and my emotional responses? Everything I feel is paired with an alternative emotion or a more global idea or desire. I think about myself then I think about my culture. I think about agency (do I have any?) and determination. I haven't read enough to know what I feel and if that feeling is worth knowing. Maybe everything I do is justified by an emotional response to that action or question or combination of the two.

What's worth knowing in this world? Is it worth thinking? Is it worth not thinking?

I want to know what that emptiness in my head is the result of, or lack thereof.

"getting a grip on letting go..."


Existence is more complicated that I assumed it would be. I can't blame "them" because they are just as susceptible.

"blithar blithar blithar"

Rational

I still don't know how to be completely honest with myself on here. This is an internal monologue turned digital and external. I was reading today in a a book about political theories (I cannot recall the title, much to my chagrin) about Vico and Hume. My attention was first turned to Vico through the writings of Isaiah Berlin, so when I saw this chapter I immediately turned to it. When I arrived to the section on Hume, I was particularly interested in Hume's idea about rationality and history. He pits rationality against passion (Kierkegaard?) and says that rational behavior historically is at odds to the passions of man. History and politics are not guided by rational behavior but by the internal burning of the hearts of men, and if this so happens to take the form of rational judgment then this is a rare example. Now I do not know much more about Hume and his philosophical work, but I find that small section particularly noteworthy.

And again.

How do you hear the voice of God? What language does he speak? Are the heavenly realms a whisper in the Cosmos compared to the unbridled power of the words of the Divine? I am convinced that this is jargon, irrational, and extremely important. What power do words hold and to what degree do we surrender ourselves to word and motive? I have no answer. I have no real understanding besides what I have experienced or perceived. Is that enough? What validates my understanding? It may contradict yours and most likely if it has not at this point, it will in the future.

...

We over estimate the rational ability of human beings. I can easily hold two contradicting thoughts in my head and think them not to be at odds. This is existence. How do we reckon with it?

I am starting to think that God speaks. Not in tongues. Not in religious rhetoric. Not in Relevant Christian trends. Its larger than relevancy. It is larger than socio-cultural boundaries. It is larger than religion and religious traditions.

I don't know what this means, to be terribly honest. I don't know what you will think of it and I can't say that I don't care regardless, because I do. I am unsure of the ramifications and logical or illogical conclusions. I am slightly worried that these might be hormonal imbalances. But at the risk of sounding unintelligible and cryptic (this risk is taken and almost guaranteed to have been a loss), I think I hear God (under what guise?).

and it sounds absolutely nothing like they said it would.

There is nothing new under the sun, but today feels different

There is something new for me here. In this place. I know now why monastic orders retreat into the desert and whisper promises over themselves that were originally whispered by something other, something larger, something here but not here, us but not us. This is no contradiction. This is not formal logic. What works logically and formally in an illogical and informal world? I receive both of these. I accept all of it.

Who am I now? Who was I then? Are they not the same person? Am I not the same?

I am both.

I've never been able to own anything. Not a memory, not a moment in time. When I look at old pictures or a pictures owned by someone else. I am filled with longing. Longing first of all to be filled, second of all to own something, to make something mine, to say I know that and it belongs to me. Now this ownership, its not a normative system of ownership. It has more to do with identity than the actual moment I wish to own. I feel like it is intrinsic to my being to let things go, to give them to others, and to let them have them. At this point is where I start to feel anxious. Anxious about life, about college, about what follows after college. I feel anxious about moments that have yet to even come into existence, because I know when they do I will feel as if I cannot fully experience them.

I want to wake up one day and realize that in that waking, in that drawing in of breath, in that space between drowsiness and awareness - that this my waking, that this is my breath, and this is my day, as well as everyone else's.

Dilatory

It all felt soft tonight, driving home through the fog. I'm not trying to be allegorical or to evoke some feeling of mystery or awe. It just simply felt soft.

I don't really know what to do most of the time, so I read, or I think about washing my hair. Tonight, I'll probably do neither. Its interesting to know that eyes might read these words, but I think I'd prefer to think not of eyes scrolling a page, or of fingers typing a phrase, but rather nothingness and the something that springs forth from it. Not because it must, but just because it will, and at times, like this, does. Comma Comma Comma.

I haven't slept well the last few nights. I wake frequently and dream vividly. But I feel, well, I don't know what I feel or even what that means. Take it as you will - the meaninglessness and the obvious meaning both are equally as transparent to all who look. If you don't see the paradox, you aren't really looking.

...or you aren't really alive...

both are possible.


Today I held my nephew; tomorrow I'll hold a book.

Ma'salaama

How do you document the sky?

"He was up all night thinking about wolves, literally."

"you cannot mirror

long individual strands

taller daily grows"

Bo Orr, on hair.

"Do not hurry, Do not rest" - Goethe

I will possess your heart. It is a new year, and I am meticulously trying not to write meticulous. I spell out a word and then realize I am alone. I go crazy if I don't let it all just fall out, line by line, like a marching band of ideas, like brothers learning to love each other, like you and me.

Do you ever get so tired of waiting that your only response is to wait? Its been so long since I have heard that familiar hello or "hey girl." Makes little sense doesn't it? The way sometimes what you thought would spill over, barely makes a mess at all. Sometimes I beg myself to just make a mess. Sometimes I simply clean up whatever is before me, messy or not. These are not allegories, and mere metaphors at that. Its not metaphysical or even practical. Not idiosyncratic. Its the sound of fists hitting the punching bag. Its the screech of tires as they unintentionally take a sharp turn. Its the sounds of cigarettes slowly lighting and flickering as the wind blows on your already chilly face, alone, except for whatever enters and controls your mind. Its the absence of you, but the Presence. I know not its whereabouts. As Dillard said, may your tribe increase. If she were here, I'd ask her, "What tribe?" My face is bloodied, my fists tired.

What tribe? I have no direction, I have only maps. Point and Shoot. Tell me where. I'll begin here, but where shall I end up?


Maybe I'll never leave. Maybe I'll just wait.


Would you?

Speak now because its been 400 years. Or maybe two weeks.

Materializing out of infinite thoughts is the world around me, bursting with the very stuff of all creation. Its cold outside. Annie Dillard in her cabin forty years ago wrote about this very thing. A simple longing for an understanding of the complex. And now I have it, in the silence of a new year. In the silent longing of one to hold near. I see your face and it is glowing so brightly, it doesn't surprise me that no one can see you as you walk into the dark.

I'm here secretly stalking muskrats as they run in and out, hiding behind our words and feelings. Do you perceive yourself to be alone. You're alone with the Alone, and yet there, precisely in that spot, we find rest.

I talk to you tomorrow, I am sure.