Molting

"Change" begs the questions "From what?" and "To what?"

Change is, for me, like most people, hard. But although change is hard, fear of change is suicidal. Trying to stop the process of change, trying to keep things the way they are, or worse, to bring back an earlier time, is to consign yourself to a damp, gray, Purgatory. You will never succeed. You will wear yourself out. Our only refuge is in hope and hope lies in Tomorrow.

I haven't conquered my fear of change. I fear the transition in becoming a writer. I fear that I won't make it, that all my neuroses and insecurities will flare up, a madness born of Asian parenting and valuing the shelter of big organizations. Have I defeated my upbringing?

I'm doing it now.

2011 has been all about change.

From the church of my yesterdays to a community who can support my tomorrows.
From the heavy frame of a powerlifter to a more economical chassis.
From wavering to steadfastness.
From selfishness to humility.
From fear to courage.

Boon Church and its culture are antithetical to where I'm going. I've written for a number of years on the things I detest. I find sitting in Flushing restaurants talking about sitting on a couch watching reality TV or sports repugnant. That's not fellowship for me. That's spiritual suicide. The church I'm eyeing fascinates me. In their 5 years of existence, 9 non-profits have started within their community. Intrepid, entrepreneurial spirits fill the community. I'm excited.

Weight loss has been something I've talked about but have failed to accomplish for a number of years. Going from 320 to 220 has been such an accomplishment. A part of me felt that I earned the right to rest on my laurels. You look fine. Women actually check you out now. Men come to you for advice. No need to change anything! But 'good enough' is not good enough for where I'm going. I don't want to do this until I'm 30 and then go on and live a sedentary life. I don't want to let my passion for adventure devolve into a side hobby of hiking and racing. To do this for my whole life, I better look into dropping weight. And I've done just that. I've reached 10 and 12 year lows in weight. I've hit one personal best at a race this year and nearly took two more. We're only 4 days into May. I'm excited.

When I first considered writing, I said "I'd try it." Those words haunted me, shamed me. I read Mark Twight's "Twitching" half a decade ago and it inflamed my spirits. This video burned the image of a real workout into my mind. The song that comes on at 2:15 is "Thunder Kiss" by White Zombie. "I never 'try' anything. I just do it." threatens one of the lyrics. Saying "I'd try it." betrays the spirit that I admired, the spirit that I received from Mark Twight. I wavered. I would not own up to my dreams, my beliefs. As Peter denied his God, his friend, so I denied my soul. But now, I no longer waver. I make the same declaration I did when I first had my heart broken. I will change or I will die. I do not believe in NOT risking your life. In fact, one should realize that every true choice risks their life, whether they will live themselves or die and eke out a false life.

And so I realized I didn't need to grasp my life as tightly as I had. I have enough regrets about my yesterdays. I once told a girl I loved that I was going to live my life the way I wanted to and if anyone wanted to come along for the ride then they were free to do so. I don't believe in living that way any longer. My life isn't my own. I recognized that in many ways. Perhaps I thought I could hold one small corner back and it wouldn't be noticed, missed. Perhaps I thought that with love, I might find a safe way to love, but one cannot love defensively. Tomorrow demands that I hold my life loosely, as one might hold a small bird. When it needs to fly, you need to let go. When you are in love, you must never live otherwise.

And so, this is my letting go. This is my discovery of courage, of resolve, determination, hope.
I feared not recognizing myself at the end of 2011. I should have hoped not to recognize myself. Who I was won't be appropriate for what I'll do.

Sitting

I hate sitting.

The arc of my life's transformation takes me further and further away from sitting. In my younger years, I read a lot until I found video games. Then I planted myself before a computer and read a lot. The reading has blessed my life a great deal while the sitting has been an unmitigated curse.

Studying the psoas muscle, particularly my own issues with the psoas muscle, has led me to think along these terms.

The hips produce the force for running, fighting, dancing, leaping, loving, living. Plant yourself in a chair and your tell your hips this position is natural. Your pelvis tilts back, the spine comes forward and the head lowers, falling further from the sky. Sitting degrades your hips. Compromised hips, hips that can't run, fight, dance, leap or love properly, ruin the spine. Without a spine, it becomes nearly impossible to stand tall. Who can respect, much less love, a man who's forgotten how to stand tall? What woman is love-able when she doesn't believe she's worthy of love?

So stop sitting.

Repair your hips.

Cure your unnatural addiction to television reality game shows and comedy dramas with life. Breathe it in deeply, the purer, rarefied air of living worlds.

I was teaching a friend good running form this past Sunday, showing him how to finish his stride with his feet coming up towards the buttocks. "Doesn't that use more energy?" he asked. "It's running. It uses energy. Dragging your feet is the act of someone uncommitted to the reality that they're running. They don't want to use energy, don't want to open up to the possibility that running may be enjoyable. These people believe that running must be awful and are determined to be right about their belief no matter the cost. Lift your feet."

Move. In any direction. Open your hips. When you run, stride with commitment to each step. Yes, I am running, so let me run beautifully! God, free me from plodding and power-walking and all such half-hearted efforts! When you fight, let your hips explode with their full fury and force. Don't just throw arm punches, afraid to get hit or hit others. Throw a true punch, snap a true kick. When you dance, let your hips come to the party. Don't just awkwardly shimmy your shoulders on the side of the dance floor like you're afraid someone will see you trying to have a good time. In all that you do in life, do it with your most powerful driver, your hips. Don't go to the grave never having brought your body's engine to redline.

Unlearn sitting. Unlearn all the practices of life that destroy your core, your strength, your integrity. In that vacuum, rediscover possibility. It will start slow. For many years, I struggled to do a single pull-up. It took what felt like forever before I could run 5 miles without stopping to walk some part of it. Even in my 2nd year of running, I still took breaks in the shorter races to catch my breath. Keep fighting. Keep striving. The habits you've acquired over the course of decades will not dissolve in a few well-meant weeks. Before you can build a new life you must clear the rubble of your current one, and to do that, you most certainly must get up off your ass.

Offering

Am I loved?

Am I pleasing to you?

Those two questions from last night's sermon circled above me my whole life, specks in the sky, vigilant, patient. I answered the needs beneath those questions for 20 years by hiding myself beneath obedience. I'll be the guy you want me to be. I'll study hard in school. I'll get a stable job, marry a girl who's not too pretty, not too fancy. I'll contribute at church and write up new bible studies. I'll show up for all the prayer meetings and head up committees. I'm good, right? I'm acceptable, right?

I prostituted my soul for over two decades but I don't blame the buyer. I blame the victim. No one took me by force. They couldn't deceive me had I not wanted to be deceived. I wanted to be accepted and I chose my path. Because I knew so little of who I was, I could not defend myself against who I was not.

There once was a peasant who grew his carrots and turnips on his farm. This plebeian loved his king with all his heart and from the overflow of his heart brought the king the largest, biggest carrot he ever grew. In response to this pauper's love, the king bequeathed land to the peasant, doubling his territory.

Seeing this, a well-to do lord wondered to himself. If the king was so generous to the peasant for a carrot, what would he give in response to a cow or a horse? So with expectant eyes the lord came before the king and gave the king a fine steed, a mighty steed, tall with lithe muscles and shimmering coat. The king thanked him absent-mindedly and waved the lord away.

Flummoxed, the lord dawdled confused. As the guards came to escort him away, the lord stammered about how excellent the horse was, surpassingly so, peerless. And indeed the horse was, said the king. So excellent this beast was, that you wanted to give it to yourself. You see, the peasant brought his carrot out of the love in his heart, expecting nothing in return. You however, seeing the peasant's reward brought the horse hoping to win something in return. Now, begone.

Others gave their souls to God from a genuine desire to minister. I gave my soul in service and in ministry hoping to find acceptance and approval. I do this, you do that. That's the deal, right? But God loved me far too much to accept those terms and conditions. No, he brought me through several hells. Lonely nights, hard fights, punching my knuckles bloody against boulders, throwing trash cans into lakes and destroying public property, screaming my anguish into the thunder. He gave me everything necessary, even if those necessities drew out tears and screams. My reward has been a mirror. I can see who I am now. Never in my life have I been so confident in my knowledge of self.

I haven't worked out the details yet but there's undoubtedly a connection between knowing yourself and dimming the need for approval, acceptance. Do I still battle it? Surely, but for the first time in my life, I've been finding victories. So, no, I don't blame the church for what it did but with my life I hope to light a way for other misfits, for those who refuse to settle for quiet lives of meek obeisance.

From where that pavement is...

"...'cause there's no parachute that they can make for this

'cause I put my pain, my heart, my soul, my faith in this..."

My spiritual infancy brimmed with missionary zeal. Every faithful Christian should eventually find their way to missions and ministry. Christians who simply gave financial support and prayed were just ducking the hard work.

Did anyone ever say as much? No, not once.
Was this the overwhelming impression that I was left with? Yes, I and very many others.

As adamant as these zealots might have been in saying that there was no two-tier Christendom, they never realized that their works and words created such a world. They scoffed and laughed at the charismatics who segregate the faithful into those who've spoken in tongues and those who haven't, but they then frowned on those who elected to pursue a dream apart from third-world countries or clerical collars.

Two tiers? No, never. It's just that some people love God more and some not so much. Not being in ministry meant you either didn't love God or you didn't love people.

Unacceptable hypocrisy.

God cannot be God of all creation and God of only those who are in ministry.

Creation, so great and so wide and God's name is writ large over it all. And yet, I believed, I followed those who would confine Christendom to church walls, literal and otherwise. The otherwise refers to the begrudging concession that Christ may be loved outside a church building. But a discomfort plagues them if the love is not covered in crosses, soft lighting and tearful conversion stories.

But now, day by day, the glowing upswell in me burns brighter. I know where I'm going. For so much of my life, I feared that my teachers were right and that God was a petty Asian bureaucrat who wanted to lock me inside a church. No, far more powerful, far more gentle than I could have imagined, he beckons me towards a life I was trained to believe could never be mine.

There has never been a moment of greater rebellion and greater obedience for me. Throwing my hat in the ring, I'm going to be a writer. An echo from years past rings in my heart "If you won't take a chance on this, what will you take a chance on?" I'm not going to write for Christian media. I don't have the stomach for trying to be awkward and impish, skirting family-unfriendly realities. Screw that stupid shit. It's not going to be for academia as if I cared about impressing them and acquiring for myself their distinctions and honors anymore. I won't have a big organization to hide me. My parents taught me that security lay in size. There is no security in size. There's only security in the hollow of God's hand. And I believe that's exactly where I am. Throw away so many of the beliefs I've been taught, so many of the doctrines that finger-wagging reverend faces have instilled in me. Throw away the fears, the false needs, the empty materialism. Throw away the useless practices that no longer serve me. Rebel, reject and return to the naked freedom of knowing that God wants you to be yourself.

Today Is Practice For Tomorrow

An action becomes a practice. Practice becomes a habit. A habit becomes a life.
Today is practice for tomorrow.

My mother was a chef in AIG's cafeteria for about 20 years. In those years, she brought home leftovers beyond what our family might've afforded otherwise. Mountains of filet mignon, cornucopias of cutlets, pounds of pork chops, and the like. I loved them all. I remember many a time sneaking downstairs for another slice of filet mignon.

The taste wasn't the same but my appetite for burgers, pizza, fries, pies and fried chicken continued to grow like a tumor of the soul. In high school, I was well over 200. In college, 300.

A small action led to a life and quite nearly, the end of a life.

It's not easy to treat a cancer of the soul.

I had to summon up a lot of willpower to decide to spend my money on a salad that was the cost of a Popeye's meal and a Chinese lunch box combined. It's just green rabbit food! Why's it more expensive!? But I did. And I yearned for golden fields of chicken skin, rivers of black bean sauce.

Actions become practices. Practices become habits. Habits become lives.

I ate salad one day. And then another. And now I can't imagine ever going back to a fast food restaurant. If I were driving on a road, I might grab a banana and a bottle of water from a rest stop instead of a burger. Habits become lives but lives change.

I find myself holding onto this truth these days as I'm excising another tumor.

A lot of my blogs draw a lot of questions. "Stan, are you talking about me in that post?" No, I'm far too self-absorbed to think about others. I'm talking about myself, to myself. When I talk about hating a life watching TV, watching American Idol, eating potato chips, I'm trying to apply chemotherapy to myself. I want to change. More than anything else, I want to change.

For decades, I believed a painting on a mirror was my reflection. The oils have dried and chips are falling. I'm beginning to see myself. But it's not someone I recognize. Why should I recognize him? I'm getting to know him for the first time.

I can't go back to watching TV. I can't stay at a job where I have to wait for assignments. I can't ever settle for good enough. Maybe it's enough for someone else to have a safe job at a big company and wait for the weekend, but that's dishonest living for me. I don't want to spend 40 hours a week hiding my values because I'm too scared to step out on a limb. I don't want to spend any more time watching TV or movies or doing things to kill time. I'm dying.

From the moment I was born, I began my journey to death. I can't stop and linger here on the couch with you. If you think this means I believe I'm too good for you, I'm too haughty or I'm just an arrogant asshat, I'm sorry you think so. I don't have enough time for more explanation than what I'm now giving. I know how I want to die. Do I know if I'm going to get it? Not a clue. I do know what it'll take for me to die happy. If you had a choice between stuffing your coffin with regrets or treasured memories, what would you choose?

If I spent my life serving in church ministries up to my ear, chained to a desk job, welded to a couch, or around restaurant tables talking about gadgets... I simply do not love anyone enough to fill the grave with that many sorrows.

Actions become practices. Practices become habits and habits become lives.

Writing this blog post memorializes an action I took nearly 3 years ago. I refuse to live somebody else's life, by somebody else's values. I sought my own and found a remarkable parity with God's values. It has been a slow realization that I'm where God wants me to be. I just do not care if no one else is doing this. (For the record, I think there are a few who do something similar. I think that of all of them, I am the one most sensitive to criticism.) I don't know what the path will look like 2 or 3 steps down the road. It's like running through twilit Peruvian jungles with a flickering headlamp. The future is vague, and the present is just clear enough so stay in the present.

And at the end of all these presents I look forward to the life I will have left behind.

The Phoenix Effect: Holyland

There's nothing left. 

This is the pure space we've prepared.

You and I.

It's our Holyland.

This isn't the first post I've tried to write about Holyland. It's an amazing manga -- far more mature than Naruto, Bleach and so on. The realism is astounding. Mori shows his work and research into not only fighting styles but their applications on the street. But more than anything else, the way that the protagonist, Kamashiro Yuu develops grabs at me like nothing else.

I love Naruto, both the manga and the character. But in the end, it never ceases to be a cartoon. He is too pure, too focused and determined on Sasuke, with such a small basis for it that the veil of comic-hood remains intact. It never ceases to be Magical Ninja Kids: the serial. But Holyland is entirely different. No magic. No concessions to the Rule of Cool. It's bare-knuckled reality broken down into frames and read from right to left.

But I don't think everyone would feel that way about the manga. It's the 272nd most popular series on OneManga.com It falls behind Yu-Gi-Oh a comic written about a children's card game created specifically for a TV show that doesn't make sense, Black Lagoon, a series that is unmatched in its attempt, and failure, to look legitimately cool (the whole thing reads like an unintentional parody of Tarantino), and many other works that have less heart and investment. I'm not surprised, nor particularly outraged.

I never believed that Holyland was the kind of work that would appeal to a large group of people. Knowing what I do about writing and life, I believe that Yuu exists as an outlet for Mori. He was created so that Mori could share his own life, tell his story to the world.

And I believe I've found a kindred spirit in him, and thus, in Yuu. His story revolves around a desperate attempt to find refuge in martial arts to escape his daily torment. But the refuge wasn't so much the violence that it provided but the stability it provided. If he worked, he would improve. The physical violence, I feel, is ancillary to the story. The true movement lies in the internal development and realization of the characters.

Why is this so important to me? See image below. And remember, reading is from right to left.

I only dabble in self-defense. For me, it's triathlons. For me, it's about never giving up. It's about leaving behind a life of cowardice and excuse-making. For me, I think this is right now, my true religion and faith. The Good News for me is that anyone can become stronger with nothing more than diligence. My deliverance is in seeing my race times drop and drop and drop.

Idolatry. I don't deny it. I have two gods. My strength and then, God. It's not always clear cut who rules my life. My family is so small. I know one other person in my life who has come to transformation by hatred as well. I latch onto Holyland because even if they are so far, I believe that Mori understands me more than almost anyone else could. And perhaps more than anything else, I wonder about what choices exist out there for me aside from hatred and fear.