Air in My Tire

“Where you going Say Bay?”

“Just putting air in my tires. Do you need any air in your tires?”

         

“I little bit, but I got hundre-I got a hundred and fifteen pounds per square inch. That little pump won’t do it for me."

Just then, a good friend: one who wore not a windbreaker or a weather resistant material – but one who wore just a short sleeve near eight at night in the midst of winter – came by and opened the front door. I asked him, “Do you have any wise words?”

He repeated the question aloud to himself and told me, “Spend life making memories, not regrets.”

Up to the honesty that is, I spent the hour before on a couch in the warm-lit room of my good friend. He came to Corvallis when I did: one and a half years ago. He will graduate in spring weeks and will be onto life outside of school. We sat and discussed, relaxed and gathered. I told him about my own pursuit for what I want and how it compares to dialing back in the process to be a variable for the equations of life that roll around me all the time.

I can be that multiple to make an impact, the salt: light of the city on a hill. I have been to the end of myself a few times before and was never impressed by it. Rather, my own glory melts in comparison to the increase of life around me in my sacrifice. In the night, full of thoughts that wander, I am happy where God has brought me. Eternity is far from over, but this is a good start.

Letter for Those I Love

“Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.”

   – Ecclesiastes 2:11

If not honest, I would be internal with a matter that should, for the sake of progressive intellect (save relevance), be brought to light. I am uncertain. The above verse from Scripture was written in context to a passage titled, The Futility of Pleasures. My concerns have not to do with pleasures, but what I claim are my options with the youth of life.

Many of my cohorts – good friends of a college town – are in transition at the end of this term from studies into a career path. Since I have been settled in town, those processes have always encouraged me to learn and acclaim with intellect when around them in pace, conversation, or other societal conversations. My matter is this: if at all it is my decision whether to uproot once more and pursue a career that God has prepared me for (if I believe He has), then what to make of the depths of wealth I note with family in Christ? It is all rather large for my thought patterns and so I have lifted those questions (and more) to God with (desired) expectancy that I will hear in time. I don’t mean to confuse those nearest me with questions I have watered, but it is only practical to express those with honesty.

The matter at hand is not as urgent in this season, but it should be noted with power that God has given me talents apart from comfortable norms and know Him enough that He calls out for missions that otherwise would be achieved (whether we want apart of it or not), so I protect that stance. This message is preface for a romantic letter of address to those person I love that I would hate to lose if and when I move to Hollywood for the attack on those opportunities that I, since childhood, knew that God hoped me for.

Campus Harvest

I would read my bible every morning. Otherwise, I would pray – talk, rather – to God. I would work, eat, sleep, and dream. This was my pattern for months at a time, sewn together by a desire for more of God. I believed, yet failed to accomplish, time apart for God was necessary. What I didn't expect, but had found out, was that Campus Harvest fit that mold. It wasn't the secret place alone with God, but it was intentional time that I blocked out just for Him. It was a frame of time that I went into with expectancy and for specific areas to be spoken into. Within that: I was forthright to open up all of myself and lay myself at His feet to shape for His glory. Going forward from the weekend, I was empowered to start anew and move with vigor toward the path He had for me to walk.

In specific, I went in to hear from Him about whether to move to Los Angeles in pursuit of the passion he laid on my heart since youth (art) or stay where He placed me in Corvallis. My pastor there at the conference spoke one side of that decision in terms of where actual value laid. I agree: what's more important than where I go in place of duty is who I do it wit. That purpose and those people trump the accomplishment.

When Babylon wanted to make its name great, God dispersed them (Genesis 11) because nothing would be impossible for them to accomplish. Out of the scattered people, he chose a random man named Abraham and told him that He would make his name great. As children of God, our identity is secured to start with; there is no need for a pursuit of vanity. On the other side, I heard from a respected teacher that God has given us all special areas that we are to lay our most into for God. I feel most alive when I create and know that collaboration is an environment that can be garnered for God to have glory. In the end, I believe God would have all His own at the forefront in many career fields. 

           

I know that many of my brothers and sisters as Christians wonder whether what voice they hear is theirs or God’s. Here are some notes I gathered from the conference to help:

·         Since God is personal, He can speak to us through revelation (dreams), a growing realization that comes through fruit (I am most alive when I am creative), and recognition (God can use people to confirm what I am already feeling).

·         God initiates an idea and humans confirm or humans initiate and God confirms.

Altogether, I had a great time and look forward to penning my journey through a new book I am writing about my time in Corvallis and through the descent to Los Angeles.

From Now On

“Where you going Say Bay?”

“Just putting air in my tires. Do you need any air in your tires?”

“A little bit, but I got hundre-I got a hundred and fifteen pounds per square inch. That little pump won’t do it for me.”

Just then, a good friend: one who wore not a windbreaker or a weather resistant material – but one who wore just a short sleeve near eight at night in the midst of winter – came by and opened the front door. I asked him, 

“Do you have any wise words?”

He repeated the question aloud to himself and told me:

“Spend life making memories, not regrets.”

Aside from the honesty that is, I spent the hour before on a couch in the warm-lit room of my good friend. He came to Corvallis when I did: one and a half years ago. He will graduate in thirteen weeks and so will be onto life outside of school. We sat and discussed, relaxed and gathered. I told him about my own pursuit for what I want and how it compares to dialing back in the process to be a variable for the equations of life that roll around me all the time. I can be that multiple to make an impact, the salt: light of the city on a hill. I have been to the end of myself a few times before and was never impressed by it; rather, my own glory melts in comparison to the increase of life around me by my sacrifice. In the night, full of thoughts that wander, I am happy here.

Three days out, I let this post sit still on my desktop. I had spent three days at four hours a day finishing a script and hated that feeling of having to write. Right now, I’m writing the sequel to a book about my bicycle trip (Fog on Fire – coming June 21^st). It’s fun, yes, but I’m not too glued to writing and it feels good. Rather, I have spent the past few weeks in pursuit of the switch end that cinema is: imagery.

As such, I am allowed to edify subjects within a frame and sculpt an image with light and shadow. I love it. What is better than the end result is the time I get to spend in collaboration with the people that sit for me and creating together is a wonderful process. When they are new friends, we are both just as nervous as the other and learn to trust while going through that event. It has been a wild ride: my time in Corvallis, and I am thankful for the length of it

 

West Coast

Out of high school, I went to Hollywood, became homeless, and lived on the road by bicycle from Southern California to Oregon, Idaho, Spokane, Seattle, and south along the coast to San Francisco before my bike broke and I hitchhiked to Newport, Oregon and came into Corvallis. Now, I'm here and have been for a year and a half. What it seemed to be – my time in Corvallis – was for communal restoration and the improvement through each other by God. It was a wild ride and will continue to be through what's left until September (two year reunion of being here) when I take to the coast with my cat Marilyn and ride south to Hollywood where I will pursue a career in cinema.

I spent the most of this morning reading the blog of a woman cyclist that I met on the coast of Oregon and rode with for a couple days before we split ways from each other. Beyond that nostalgia are memories coupled with spring coming on and the scents that take me to places I had been on the road. When the scent of flowers blooms in the heat of spring and life around heats up: I simmer with adventure for the coastal trip I had. Walking through a thick of pines is the reminder of golden light pools scattered on coniferous trees around my campsite in past. 

In my writing, I feel like Meriwether Lewis. Sometimes I lose interest and would pursue creativity in other ways. That's fine. Being unproductive is worst of all. In preparation by forethought: I excite over maps, savings, bikes, dreams, and the freedom my spirit needs in venture. Being in community for this while was what part of me needed, but my spirit desires a journey of its own just the same.  

Bring the Sunrise

“There are some mysterious elements at work.”
‘How do you perceive the mysterious elements?’
“That’s up for you to decide. Because what I perceive may be different than what you perceive.”
‘Well, what do you perceive?’
“You know, I haven’t quite figured it out, yet. Some would say Jesus.”

Through the east bank roadway to town, the open skies and fields held an air that chipped through my thin jacket and long sleeve. My torso temperature warmed but my thighs, from air through my jeans, stayed cool as I climbed the bridge over the Willamette River that was constant: slow, but proven powerful from risen sediment below the surface.

It was matte: the color of day raised orange at the horizon through trees and lifted to sea green as a spectrum of blue went to black at west where stars twinkled. As it rose, sun light seemed to erupt through the atmosphere as a tropical orange spread out around the sphere of sight. As the colors came to, the objects before them deepened to silhouettes that crystallized as dark shadows with distance like space beyond our galaxy. Cars passed below in series of red and headlight yellow colors under illuminated canopies of white  and warm street lights to work.

When the sun had near risen (7:39), the most of sky above held a light blue with the horizon line as its border of light orange held at east and violet at west. It was noticeable: the sun rose more north toward spring. The orb of it was visible through the low fog and rose in a fiery flicker. At the east, the coast range illuminated in a thick coat of purple color with the space between the trees as a dark space that patterned the rolling hills.

Age is But a Number & Even McLarens Need Gasoline

"With that, I'd say: don't lose it. That characteristic is applicable in all contexts."

Night:

While I rode home over a narrow wooden bridge that gets rolled over with eastbound traffic out of Corvallis, I stopped above the Willamette River while it flowed north for the Columbia River. Over to the west, at a southern angle of winter, I saw the last coat of light decorate the sky with thin colors in the red tint category. When I pulled over along the walking path, I saw a spread of Easter pink that stretched due south to northwest by north. At where the sun dropped, the colors changed in a boil to royal purple and so stretched but thinner as the set went further.

At my one year review for my job at the fuel center in Corvallis, my manager and I discussed what trajectory has launched since we opened last February. I told him where I forecast it heading and he addressed issues I had at work. One in particular had to do with my desire to call people out whom I work with and have no authority over.

 "I at least try and they aren't even trying. It's like you hold yourself to a standard and want to do the same with others."

In whatever I do, I hope to be salt and seek an increase for the best that can be attained in whatever circumstance. I understand that a great deal of trust in God needs to be there, as well a tactical outreach for me to have when I approach different people to know them so to ensure that a positive outcome endures. Altogether, my time at the Corvallis Fred Meyer fuel center has been a worthwhile pursuit. It was cool to be there as a leader to setup its roots for a long stance of world class customer service. Furthermore, I look forward to my efforts as an associate in whatever I take on.

Morning:

The first light: anything brighter than shear darkness has occurred earlier since the solstice. On this morning, it began minutes before seven. It started as a blue expanse (like an ocean) that revealed clouds (as floes) with variant shades of gray within. Beyond, from the heights to horizon: the surroundings became outlined with shadow and misted with fog that seemed to roll forward from the distance. In the sky were silent lights of stars that were brighter than the others to see the new day rise.

Between seven and eight, the sun rose in orange layers between clouded strips of deep purple (near gray). Fog sat above a meadow to the east and gave distance to the tree line with a haze that deepened. For a moment, clouds above were orange against a blue sky. Consider the sunrise: how it billowed over clouds that shone sharp light at top and overtook the innocence of morning glory with stricken vibrancy that set the tone for a summer day in winter.