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The Rose is without why
She blooms because she blooms
She does not care for herself
Asks not if she is seen.
~Angelus Silesius

I went to some kind of hipster party the other weekend. The night started when I got a call at about 10:30 from someone who clearly knew me well:
"Hey Bryan, I'm at this party. You should come. Here I'll give the phone to someone who can give you directions."

After listening to someone rattle off directions in Spanish that included, "turn right after the green gate," and "once you find such-n-such a street, keep going 2 blocks and turn left when you see a wall," I realized I was probably never going to actually make it to the party.

Nevertheless adventure beckoned.

So after driving around with a more than amiable taxi driver, to my utter surprise I actually found the house. Don't think I'm taking creative liberties here, I had put my chances at less than favorable and yet somehow managed to find the right place. I suppose maybe that's divine humor right there... Leaving taxi man with a nice tip I passed through the gate of a compound up in the hills and found myself instantly transported to some house in Orange County. The driveway consisted of some kind of imported grass that was more or less able to withstand vehicles, and as I rounded the corner I found myself looking at a nicely heated pool, the kind that doesn't have edges so the water is perfectly level with the ground (what do they call those, infinity pools?) set beneath a beautifully decorated wooden patio. The entire back wall of the house was glass, providing its occupants with a wonderful view of Cochabamba but also creating a really creepy voyeuristic feeling in every single one of the more than 20 rooms where the curtains weren't drawn. If Cochabamba ever got cold I couldn't imagine what the heating bill would be. As I stood there gaping a nicely groomed Labrador trotted past me...

...with a monkey on its back.

Are you picking up what I'm putting down yet? Swanky does not begin to describe it. I mean... they had monkeys... who does that in real life? Not the big ones that have to wear diapers and fling poo at you when you're not looking, but the cute little spider monkeys that only want to be held and fed grapes.

I threaded my way through the assorted hipsters who were milling out in the yard, each one sporting assorted varieties of black horn-rimmed glasses, shoulder tattoos, v-neck shirts, scarves, skinny jeans, and creative facial piercings. Someone put some sort of beverage in my hand and I was off and running... milling with the best of them, pretending like I was totally used to having parties at glass houses on the hills of Cochabamba. Someone was grilling up assorted bits of meat and passing them out to whomever was hungry, as I swung by the grill I half expected to find an ostrich wearing an apron, but alas, it was just another dude with carefully messy hair and interesting-looking tattoos.

The night went well for the next several hours, I fed pieces of fruit to aforementioned monkeys and chatted with some very lovely Bolivian girls who, I'm sure, where very much interested in my personality and spiritual views.

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful... eventually cocaine showed up and I was tired anyway and decided it was probably best to say my goodbyes.

As I made my way past the shnazzy pool and out the well manicured driveway I couldn't help but marvel at the similarities between people around the world. Here in this place, where poverty is ever-more apparent and that much more difficult to ignore there are still those who work hard at living their utopian dream. (we call that a dystopian dream actually ;)

Being a Christian really forces one to redefine the world's concept of "having a good time." I enjoy a nice gathering of folks as much as the next guy, but I suppose if I want to live responsibly, or at least in a way that glorifies God, it would do me well to remember that even as I celebrate there are those who suffer, and as much as I can, my place is more closely with them. More and more I am learning that the trick to life is learning how to rejoice in the midst of suffering... which is not what this post is about whatsoever, but what is nevertheless a crucial aspect of my existence. Hmph... well that thought ended things abruptly.