The Brothers Carnival

Every time I do this I feel as though I must apologize... this is, after all, not what a blog is for. But, nevertheless, every time I finish a great book I need a forum to record some of its gems, so that years from now when I look back I can remember what was.

This week was Brothers K.

Only the unwritten can truly live a life. So who I was, what I was, had to be unwritten. - Everett

Suffering is above, not below.

And everyone thinks that suffering is below.

And everyone wants to rise.

~Antonio Porchia

There are kinds of human problems which really do seem, as our tidy expressions would have it, to "come to a head" and "demand to be dealth with." But there are also problems, often just as serious, which come to nothing that we can recognize or openly deal with. Some long-lived, insidious problems simply slip us off to one side of ourselves. Some gently rob us of just enough energy or faith so that days which once took place on a horizontal plane become an endless series of uphill slogs. And some - like high water working year after year at the roots of a riverside tree - quietly undercut our trust or our hope, our sense of place, or our humor, our ability to empathize, or to feel enthused, and we don't sense impending danger, we don't feel the damage at all, till one day, to our amazement, we find ourselves crashing to the ground. - Kade

"There's something missing," he told Chekhov, handing him the last brown bag. "But there's always something missing. Having things missing, even indispensable things, is a fact of life, don't you think? And life goes on anyhow. Except for the missing parts. Which were indispensable, so of course it goes on all out of whack. But that, hell and damn, is why we prefer things like cooking and eating brown paper bags to philosophizing. Don't you think?"

Chekhov stared at the falling snow, chewed his bag, voiced no opinion. - Everett

We never know, with regard to the inner life, who or when lightning is going to strike. Often we don't even know when we ourselves are the one so stricken. - Kade

Because an eye for an eye is smart, see, but love is dumb, lovers are fools. - Kade

No sign of the people, nothing left of 'em now. But still shining down. And still trying to maybe tell us, Enjoy it down there. Live like you mean it. 'Cause once upon a time, this was a world too.

I feel as though we're all headed in slow motion for a car wreck, knowing already that we're all going to be injured. - Kade

It's clear to me now that the economy of the psyche, the inner checks and balances, our inner workings are so tricky, so impossibly fragile, we're so easily crushed, that I can't believe any longer that it's me alone, or even me and you alone, or even me and you and luck alone, that's keeping me alive. I feel now that we could die or be killed or be driven mad by grief or disaster at any moment. Even the strongest of us. Or be killed on the inside without even being touched. Yet my reaction to this, Tasha, has suddenly ceased to be anger and begun to be gratitude. - Everett

Why does my whole heart, every beat, round the clock, answer my mind's constant groaning with: but wait, but wait, but wait...?

I have been something of an emotional wreck for the last week or so. While that statement may sound glib to some, for me, the guy who will remain emotionally objective through a hurricane, that´s tantamount to a nervous breakdown. It started out with Carnival. The Mt. Everest of emotional peaks. For two days (which are really just one LONG day), the entire world descends on a tiny little town in Bolivia to celebrate a 2000 year old tradition that remains the Continent´s largest folkloric festival. Involving over 28,000 dancers and 10,000 musicians, this street parade lasts for more than 20 hours... which means that if you´re young and somewhat out of touch with reality, you may think it´s a good idea to try to ¨live it up¨ as they say and be right in the thick of it the entire time.

Emm hmm...

I almost made it.

After about 14 hours of dancing, shouting, screaming, yelling, running from police, running from mobs, running to bathrooms, getting sprayed with water, getting sprayed with foam from these terrible little spray cans (which, by the way, are supposed to be non-toxic yet still cause terrible rashes), and eating whatever street food I could get my hands on, I just HAD to take a break. At one point I was so covered in foam that my sunglasses fell off my head and were instantly scooped up by a little kid who proceeded to put them on and then laugh at me. Not knowing what else to do I laughed right back at him, but he may have sensed this as some form of aggression because instead of returning my glasses like any responsible 8 year old he whisked off through the crowd never to be seen or heard from again. Sigh... I hope he trips in a puddle.

Needless to say it was hectic. I would have loved to be able to share some pictures with you all of the madness, but the sheer number of people in the streets means that you will, with your full knowledge but complete inability to prevent it, have your pockets rifled through at least two or three times while being crushed into the sweaty back of the person in front of you. So fortunately for me I left my camera at home. EVERY other person that I know of in my party who took a camera had theirs either stolen or lost.

It was great.

But then on the emotional flipside of Carnival there is the continuing job hunt that grows ever more depressing and ever more threatening towards my self-esteem. It´s not so much the lack of opportunity, although that has something to do with it, but moreso my inability to reconcile what my heart asks of me with what my bank account tells me. I don´t want to just find something that works, I want magic! And right now that desire means that I must live quite simply in order to meet my financial obligations, even while I continue to search for that THING that I can´t articulate and barely know how to imagine. And THAT, my dear friends, stresses me out at times.

But just as Everett in Brothers K comes to question, I too must grapple with the understanding that even as my head groans my heart responds, with every beat in my body, ¨but wait, but wait, but wait...¨

For Tim

About seven years ago I was in the middle of a college crisis. I had finished two years of school without knowing what in the world I was doing there, and didn´t have any particular desire to wrap up the other two. So, after spending a year in Oakland with Mission Year I decided to head out to Jordan and see what the Middle East had to offer. Needless to say it had more to offer than I was prepared to accept. I was overwhelmed in an entirely wonderful way, and spent a fantastic 8 months living, learning, and dreaming.

But, like all of life, the mesmorizing parts were divided up a great deal by the somewhat menial parts. I had many a day of thankless labor and questioned existence. One of the families that helped me get through some of the hardest parts of my time in Jordan was the Donley´s, a family of one father (my boss), one lovely mother, one somewhat senile dog, and 4 crazy boys. At a time when my own family was going through difficult times, and I was on the other side of the world, they embraced me in a way that could only be described as life-saving. I had never had younger brothers and these 4 disheveled louts were simply overflowing with energy and life. We´d stay up late playing video games, we´d wrestle in the living room and break lamps, we´d play capture the flag all night while the ¨adults¨ had their Bible study. I was 19 and on the cusp of learning what it was to be an adult myself, but in their youthfulness they taught me what it meant to be a rolemodel, a new experiene for someone who was used to simply learning from others.

Tim, the second son, was finishing up 8th grade, and when he wasn´t in school and I wasn´t repairing cracked irrigation lines, we´d shoot hoops together or go bug the nurses at the hospital. He was a good friend during a time when I had few by my side.

That was a long time ago. He has since graduated from high school and joined the marines. I was in the states when I heard he was joining up and managed to get his phone number and call him the day before he left for basic training. It had been years since we spoke, but there he was, on the other end of the line, sounding freakishly similar yet much more grown up. We only had a few minutes but I encouraged him as best I could, told him to continue pursuing life with the same intensity he had always had, and then I prayed for him and said goodbye.

This morning when I hopped on facebook I learned from his younger brother that Tim just lost both of his legs to an IED in Afghanistan.

Just like that.

He´s in a hospital right now. Suffering from a pain I´ve never known and grappling with the prospect of an entirely new life. One that he, nor I, nor anyone ever would have imagined for him.

Is God glorified in this?

Do we lift our heads and whisper through our tears, ¨God is great¨?

These are the questions that those of us who call ourselves religious have to grapple with. Yet in my pain I know that the answer is indeed, ¨Yes.¨ God IS glorified. Perhaps we may not see it now, how could we, but when the bandages come off, when the smile slowly creeps back into his life, and when Tim has the opportunity to say, ¨In spite of everything, I will choose to love.¨

That is when we will know that God is indeed very very great.


It´s a terribly long road. One that, for Tim, has begun again on an entirely different level, yet one that we all walk in one way or another. If he´s anything like I remember, in spite of everything, I imagine Tim will choose to run.

Here´s to you Tim.

Boulder Hats and Big Sticks

Signs of Impermanence

by Edward Nudelman

The fact that I'm getting old and not just older.
That wine in a glass tastes better than wine
in the stomach. That all matter is not only
streaming toward the edge of the universe
but that my tears are too, and not from the passing
of next of kin, or even from sad visions, but from
old movies seen too many times, and never more
upsetting than the last time, when the ghost,
for instance, had no face and only pointed.
The fact that you can never find good bacon,
you can never relax in the tub, you can never
have a dream that doesn't have at least one
ominous sign. That breath becomes heavier
than gold, time lighter than air, and striving
cumulonimbus. A house on a hill on a country
road with pale sky shimmering? Try to find one.

He´s just like me! I think, amazed despite the pain. He´s just a grownup boy, stuck in a body, stuck in a life. And his life isn´t working. It´s not working at all.
-(Kade) Brother´s K

He who strives to be of use in this world soon burdens the people with his own insufficiency. -Lao Tzu

Two nights ago while I was walking home I came across a woman standing in the middle of the street yelling at anyone who came near. She had bandages on her arms and was carrying a canvas sack that sounded like it was full of empty wine bottles. It was only about 10:30 and there were still various groups of people on latenight strolls, but this particular street was almost barren thanks to this woman. As I approached the woman her eyes met mine and she shouted something at me that I couldn´t understand. I stood there with a mixture of perplexity and amusement as I considered my options for getting home. I could backtrack a couple of blocks and go around, I could press through with teeth bared, or I could just stand where I was and look somewhat naive. After some careful consideration I chose the third option.

There we were, two solitary gunmen facing each other in the streets, her with her bag of bottles, me with my grin of disarmament. As the seconds passed I noticed on the opposite sidewalk but still on my side of the street were two campesina women huddling in the shadows cast from the streetlight. I hadn´t seen them before but apparently they also needed to pass by this way and were unsure how to proceed. I made my way towards them and asked what was going on. After a quick discusion I learned that this woman was some kind of mental patient who occassionally roamed the streets at night. She had been known to be violent but was also quite scared of people who showed agression.
They asked me where I was going... 8 blocks south.
I asked them where they were going... 4 blocks east.
They looked worried.
I asked if they wanted me to walk with them.
They said yes.
With our newly formed posse we gathered our courage and pressed pass the woman in the street. One of the campesinas (indigenous women from the countryside) picked up a massive branch that had fallen from the tree to use as a threatening stick, and the woman in the street got the picture. She sneered and kept her distance, but at the same time moved with us as we made our way down the street. It was really a weird sight to see. There´s me, walking along with two Bolivian women wearing boulder hats and carrying large satchels of goods they had been selling on the streets (and one with a big-ass stick), and a third woman trailing right alongside us screaming and cursing. Usually I don´t really find the amusement until later, but in this particular situation I couldn´t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. With 3 eyes on the woman following us, and 3 eyes on the ground in front of us (sidewalks in Cochabamba are pretty perilous) we pretended to have ourselves a somewhat normal conversation, almost as if we were friends out for a walk.
What do you do here?
I´m studying Spanish and looking for work.
**Son of a $@&%# put down that stick**
Oh how lovely, well your Spanish is very good (Bolivians love to lie about this).
Oh well thank you (rolling eyes).
Do you like Bolivia?
**You are a BLACK MAN, I´ll kill you!**
Yes very much, the people are very nice.
**Stop walking away, are you afraind?**
How much longer are you going to stay here?
A few more months (I love to lie about this seeing as I never know the answer)
Oh that´s nice. Do you know Virginia?
**I´m not afraid, I´m not afraid! This is MY street!**
Yes, it´s very nice, a lot of Bolivians live there.
Yes, one day we hope to move there as well.
**Don´t walk that way! Turn around! TURN AROUND!**

Eventually we made it the 4 blocks to their house and they thanked me for walking with them. As they made to enter through their gate they asked what I was going to do to get home and I shrugged my shoulders and said, ¨Don´t worry about me, I´m pretty sure I can run faster than she can.¨
I actually laughed out loud at my own joke, but both women just looked at me like I was somewhat crazy myself.

All in all it was a fantastic night. I´m really quite uneducated about the social services that the Bolivian government is able to provide for a woman who is suffering like that, but I hope and pray that she can find peace soon. I´m doing my best to consider my next steps should I bump into her again, but for now I´m just tickled to have had a somewhat generic conversation with two women who I normally would never have had the opportunity to converse with.

Life continues to amaze me.