Okay, so here's what happened: Sunday in the late afternoon we went to the park where I first asked her out when we were in college. I brought along my box of memories from our relationship--cards, little things we made together, ticket stubs, etc. I had included with those things a DVD of the movie we watched on that first real date, The Wedding Planner. While there, we also looked at pictures from our dates and special days over the last 6 (yes, six) years.
From the park, we then went to Cafe Hidalgo, the restaurant at which we ate on our first date. The entire time, of course, she was so sure I would pop the question while we were at dinner. While she and I ate, my friend, brother, guardian angel Jeff set up a table for us on the balcony/terrace above the restaurant. When we had finished eating, and she had given up on the idea of me proposing, we left the restaurant, and took a detour via the stairs to the upper area of courtyard where we "happened upon" a beautiful table set up with candles, rose petals, martinellis and a couple of glasses. She immediately wondered whose table we had stumbled upon. I assured her it was ours, and had to show her the pictures and poetry I had written for her, spread across the table, to convince her; at this point, of course, she knew what was going on. Up there, I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me and she said yes through tears and laughter! :)
The entire time Jeff took pictures from a hidden location--if they turned out alright, and when I get a copy of them, I'll post them in my pictures section of my myspace page.
Needless to say, I've been smiling all morning!

Recently I’ve found myself longing for a certain sense of place and experience. Sitting in my cubicle at work, my mind draws me past the puce panels and ringing phones out front, to a place somewhere else. Yesterday, as I entered such a state of mental escape, I looked through some of the photographs from National Geographic’s Picture of the Day website, each image acting as a portal for me to jump from world to world; hot springs in Yellowstone, vast deserts in Egypt, the countryside in Iceland. None of these pictures were by themselves enough to detain me—I was searching for something different.

I’m sure you’ve had the experience at some point—you start off thinking it’s homesickness or that you need a vacation, but as you get home, or as you think of what you’d do with all that free time, you realize that there’s a chance fulfillment may not be guaranteed there; escape, yes, but the feeling that you have landed…

At the waning of the day, I sat in my car on the roof of a parking structure in Anaheim. I was waiting for someone, not just loitering, if you were wondering, but in a sense I was waiting for something else, rest or inspiration perhaps. Turning the pages of the book I’ve been reading, I found a travel marker left by Longinus:

Nature has appointed us men to be no base or ignoble animals; but when she ushers us into life and into the vast universe as into some great assembly, to be as it were spectators of the mighty whole and the keenest aspirants for honour, forthwith she implants in our souls the unconquerable love of whatever is elevated and more divine than we.

I wish I could tell you exactly what it is that I look for in the world, in life, in the pages of books or the flicker of film at the cinema. The comfort I find in Longinus' passage is that we as people have been trying to express it to each other from the beginning, and have even come quite close. Still, the war of minds and words rolls on. Each day I wake up and continue my search by God’s side, on some days more earnestly than others—by God’s side because I’m quite sure he’s the only one who knows what we search for through and through. I still haven’t landed. But I’ll let you know, my friends, when I have.

For the final days of 2006, after all the hullabaloo of Christmas had subsided, I spent most of my time wading through boxes of miscellaneous paraphernalia, packing, or whatever it is you call that lost wandering through your things right before you move to a new place. For those of you who didn’t know, I had to move at the end of the year due to health reasons. Without getting too much into that, I’ll say that period seems to be something of a foreshadowing regarding this coming year. A step ahead, two steps behind, I find myself entering this year frantically groping and fumbling toward transition. In a number of areas of my life, this will (hopefully) be a year of challenge and growth, as any other year would (hopefully) be. Still, this year, more than most in the past, promises to leave my life looking quite unpredictably different at its closing. Already, I live in a new place with people I met about a month ago, in a house I never really knew existed. I’ve already had surgery, bought and started reading a new book—I took a $2 chance on an African author of whom I had never heard. But I will not get too carried away with change.

So what will 2007 be about? When the clock struck midnight January 1^st, 2007, I was actually at church. I had been so engrossed in packing and cleaning up at the place in which I had lived for 3 years that I hadn’t really had time to think about resolutions. As I’ve often been challenged to do by my brother’s consistent example, I desperately searched my mind and hopes for inspiration. Then I was struck by what I was doing, in that particular moment, as well as in the few days I had off from work. I was trying to hurry transition. Obviously, the clock didn’t move any faster or slower than predicted, but my thoughts and efforts lurched toward 2007’s beginnings like a car threatening to stall and take off at the same time. My hurried packing and cleaning up was nearly causing me physical injury. Time to push down on that clutch.

So, then, 2007 will have to be about rethinking the way I do things—perhaps the “word” being “master plan”.

We’re two weeks in, but, hey, I’ve already moved and had my maxillary sinuses scraped out—what’s your excuse? As in any year, my friends, I do not dare to promise perfection by the year’s end, nor do I even dare to promise to be “accomplished” in this area of my life by the time next year rears its head. “But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward…”

Here’s to 2007 and its master plan, and all the intrigue, suspense, and possible drama it may bring. More on how things are developing here soon, my friends.

Sigh. I now feel like I can actually begin the year.

How far is Bethlehem from here?
I sit awake tonight and wonder those kinds of things, things I probably should have already at least thought about or processed at some point, but have not for whatever reason. That is, not until a cough kept me up drinking tea and hunkering down under a blanket like a wise man or shepherd on a cold night near in Palestine. But even my archetypal, and now probably historically inaccurate, metaphor betrays me as one who has never really focused enough to wonder.
Just how far is it?
From anywhere, I mean. Geographically, I mean. Although, of course, that is followed by the next question; by the way, how far is it metaphysically?
At times like these I think about angels and prophets; dreams and visions; Mary and Joseph. I think about how they disappeared into the throng of my understanding; you know, that place where dates from history books and names like Sitting Bull go to be reconstructed into so much mnemonic knowledge without full comprehension. I know they existed, but understanding what they went through requires more than knowledge of facts. I read Mary's song, but do I see Mary singing it?
You know, a young woman who has been given not just a son, but the son of God (who, by the way, the entire Jewish community was anticipating) to raise as her own. And on not so wonderful terms--pregnancy out of wedlock (in a society that actually cared). Yet there is a point when someone sees her, not just as a scriptural reference or theologically debated conundrum, but as a real person who has been overshadowed by God. So she sings.
She sings. The baby cries. Or at least he must have. All that nonsense in the songs about "little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes"; I'm sorry, I just don't buy it. To buy it is to subscribe to a fictional notion of Bethlehem. I'm sure he cried, just like I'm sure the road to Bethlehem was hard (pregnant lady on a donkey--need I say more?), just like I'm sure the animals in the stable were not necessarily glowing with reverance and probably smelled bad to boot, just like I'm sure the baby had to be fed and changed, just like I'm sure the wise men probably stopped outside Joseph and Mary's place, (this is my rendition, of course) wondering at what they were doing. And they knocked at the door. The neighbors looked on. Joe and Mary (If I may call them that) had been having visitors for some time, some guests genuinely believing their story, some simply curious and nodding to each other knowingly(oh, you were overshadowed! Gotcha! *wink*). The young couple had finally gotten people to leave them alone, then these guys show up. It's the shepherds all over again.
They smile, gladly accept the gifts, invite the wise men to stay for dinner, have that awkward conversation that might occur between three (or however many) idealistic rich guys and a young couple who had a baby they claim is the son of God in a stable in a small palistinean town... how many miles from here?
Just how far is that place? I hope not too far from us all this December.

For your procrastinating pleasure
I'm supposed to be writing a paper right now. I thought grad school would be different from undergrad; I thought I'd be serious and focused and driven. Not that I was a complete slacker in my undergraduate years--I did my homework (generally), attended classes (as much as your average student does), and did not only graduate by the skin of my teeth.
Never-the-less, the procrastination has continued. The only difference is that now I'm usually a little more interested in what I'm supposed to be working hard on, so when I actually get to it, it's an hour or two before I find myself "taking a break".
In any event, here are a couple of things for your amusement from my "break":
1) I heard an interesting story on Studio 360 tonight about a guy who runs a talk show in the Halo 2 online environment. Yeah, I had the same reaction. Check it out here.
2) Apparently soccer fans aren't the only crazy ones. Sports, sports, sports.
Well, that's all for now. I'd better get back to being studious.
Hope the week goes well, people!

From the Encyclopedia of Experience: Perspective
It is an odd thing that I spend many of my days worrying about my belly, my budget, my bank account, when truly I'm not in that difficult of a position. Sure, there are bills I end up having to pay a little later, and there are times when I cannot afford what I would like to have, but that's just it: like to have. Many of us live in a microcosm where being "poor" refers to the fact that we cannot simply do as we please on a daily basis. It is not that God is not providing what we need; it's more that we're not getting what we want (and in our human way consider necessity). It may do us well to reflect, every once in a while, on the lives of those in other positions in life which are less advantageous than our own. So here's a start--a family in Malawi that lives on $1 a day.

Like anyone, I'm sure, there are things that keep me up at night. Sometimes I sit here in this room, the window to the balcony open, my blinds letting the soft metropolitan glow in through the space where one of them fell; long into the night, on nights like this one, I sit here and contemplate pointless things like how small my apartment is compared to the vast geography of the planet, or how small my focus is at times when juxtaposed with the breadth of life's spectrum.
I read a letter from a friend in China before I went to bed; I was greatly encouraged, as I always am when I read such letters about necessary work being done, and brave steps out into the wide world; all this, and it's being done by one of my friends. I think to myself, "I have walked among giants." Truly.
And I sit here in my room and contemplate how contained my life is at times, how...banal. It's odd; I don't feel this way most days; in fact sometimes I'm quite content. But, you see, you spend enough of your life following the trails of giants, and you begin to feel the effects of the fallen trees and leveled mountains. You start to see heaven and wonder if you're reaching out to it or if it's just floating unusually low today, almost within reach, and you look around at the trail and wonder if you had anything at all to do with the affected landscape.

Down the street, the California Transportation Authority is working on expanding the freeway. It's 12:47AM and usually the beeping of the heavy equipment and dinosaur like noises of metal scraping rock and the like would trouble me. But tonight, they float through my one blind space on a breeze like a lullaby. I may be the only person thinking about these things right now, and perhaps tomorrow I will regret posting these thoughts in a public place. But for now, I'm just glad I'm not the only one awake at this time of night.

From the Encyclopedia of Experience: Pomposity
Someone who works here drives a BMW Z4* with the license plate "Z4 PHD", also displaying their educational achievements (I assume--I don't know the person). I've walked passed the car many, many times, but today as I looked at it, I began to wonder why someone would put that on their license plate. Those are great achievements, yes, but still, why call attention to them? I mean, you've already got them, so they're not for you to set your goals by. So who are they for? And especially when you're working at a place like this, a private Christian university, the primary goals of which are to free people from feeling like their degree is simply intended to be a showpiece or resume entry?
Now I must reiterate, I do not know this individual; while the temptation to make certain assumptions about the person is there, he or she may very well be a very different kind of person.
But you've got to wonder, right?
We live in a world which will tell you the value of your job is reflected by how much you're paid or what you drive, that the value of your achievement is reflected by your net worth, that, once you've got your PhD or Doctorate of any kind, you've arrived and can now feel free to spend the remainder of your time on earth in pretentious bombasts. We live in a time when people hide their insecurities behind their financial net worth or the facade of a financial net worth. I'm not going to lie, I find myself doing that from time to time. (If I don't struggle with it as much, it's because of the lack of space to hide, not my perfection! :))
You're valuable, my friend, even if you don't have a degree yet. What you can do as you are is important. And I hope that when we finally get that PhD, or any degree for that matter, and the accompanying sports car that (apparently) goes with it, we can make more of it and of ourselves than a lot of hot air with which to fill our chests and brand our license plates.
____________________________________
*In case you feel like ogling and indulging the owner: http://www.bmwusa.com/vehicles/z4/30si/default

A postcard from dad; something I needed to hear today--perhaps it will encourage you. The image on the front is an elephant standing on its hind legs to reach a branch above, where it is seeking food.
Dear Jonathan,
We trust you are well. I thought you would enjoy this postcard. Ever thought an elephant could stand in that position? Well, we are capable of accomplishing more than we or other people think...Please keep believing in God for the impossible!
Dad

Keep hoping, my fellow elephants...

"If there's one thing that I'm pretty certain of that is paramount above everything else with regards to creating, if you are an artist, or an aspiring artist; open, be open,do whatever it takes to make you open. If you have to change your environment, change it, but just be open; because when you are open, that is when the real stuff comes through. That is when we experience that thing of almost not being in control. In what ways does one get open? The mexicans call it doing without doing, not focusing so much on trying to be open, or trying to write that song, but try to look for devices that will facilitate this openness that I'm talking about, i.e. go and have fun, or do something which is probably unrelated to music...the key thing, I think, is openness."
-Seal (the musician) on New Ground
I've been experiencing some (for lack of a better analogy) artistic constipation. Okay, maybe there's a better way of saying that, but point in case. It's far too easy to fill free time with empty busyness. Perhaps it's time for a hike.

After watching the Academy Awards tonight, I reflected a little on a theme that came up several times throughout the evening's proceedings.

We are creatures who thrive on stories.

From the small child who just wants someone, anyone, to tell them a story, whether they've heard it or not, to the elderly person whose life seems to continue its flow by the fuel of sharing his or her own stories; we all seek to connect somehow through the creative and re-creative imagination. It is not enough to see a person, or to tell them of the dreary facts of everyday. Throughout a person's life, one hears thousands of stories, parables, fables, narratives, biographies, even nursery rhymes, that allow us to for a moment become bigger than ourselves, to touch somethingI say this at riskuniversal.

When I come to stories, whether I am writing them or reading them, I find myself seeking those characters to whom I can connect.

These nonexistent beings of the imagination take on a living quality when I encounter them; they bring me to discover those parts of myself from which my commonalities with men and women throughout history spring, the parts that I yearn to magnify as I seek to identify my place and purpose in life.

In a different way, very special members of the gallery of story-lives bring to the surface those other parts of myself with which I am less acquainted; the dark secrets, forlorn longings, burning hope and desire, wild resilience, the most powerful of emotions. All of these discoveries seem to generate a new color in my life's tapestry; in fact, in truth they are actually generating a new color in the general tapestry of God's painting, which raises a thought:

We, as finite beings, will not, in this life, see or hear the entirety of the greatest motion picture in existence; we're not made to. But when we can connect to those parts of stories that truly bring out the nature of the thingthe parts that we play, the direction of the script we get a glimpse of what all the fuss is about in the recognition of any story, on any level. There's no word for it, not in human language. There's no color with which to paint it. But I think we all know of what I write. I think, if we look for it carefully enough, we will find that it is written on the back of our hearts, in the stories we live and breathe, celebrate and seek each day.

All the world's a stage

I've spent the last few days limping from place to place due to a basketball injury I got on Sunday. Trying to move to fast for my own good, I guess. The past couple of days I've been putting ice on it, heating it, stretching it, but it all seemed aimless--I would get up to walk around and find that I was still sore and unable to walk without a limp. But it made me think of David's "Cast Off Day" blog; we take our freedom of movement for granted so much.

Well, perhaps due to the effort of limping here and there, I've nothing too exciting to say today except that life still throws me beauty and mystery here and there, just to keep things interesting. This morning as I grunted and heaved my way out of my car, a bird overhead caught my eye; it was a raven carrying a branch. I'm sure there's significance in that somewhere; Noah probably would have laughed. Centuries too late my winged friend. The earth is dry, Ararat is forgotten, the ark has likely been stripped for firewood; we belong to times other than these. Still, at least you've not forgotten how to fly or build a nest.

A page in the encyclopedia of experience: Maneuver
The concept of maneuvering had not occurred to me at the time, though when it hits, it’s always an old new lesson. That I was doing my own maneuvering to keep up had in fact been on my mind for a while. And I felt badly about it—about myself, for being myself was something that by nature caused me to have to maneuver; being my friendly self led to my long conversations which made me come up short with regards to my time; being my generous self led to spontaneous, and sometimes unwise, giving, which in turn caused a shortage in my pocket book. Being my artistic self caused my disregard for the boundaries of life, the “rules” we’re supposed to live by, which in turn led to disarray—a cluttered desk, for example, or an unbalanced check book.
As I sat at the wedding reception dinner, chewing steak as I listened to my neighbor tell a portion of his story, it struck me. Here was a guy who was working hard, trying to make something of himself, but meeting obstacles all along the way, obstacles I had imagined one would not encounter if they just…I don’t know, maybe had the right job, or right upbringing. Yet he had the “right job”, and though his upbringing was unknown to me, the guy next to him had the “right upbringing” and the right job, and was clearly facing hurdles and circus rings in his own life. I mulled this over, and today digested it after talking to a friend at church. He too was struggling to make something of himself, though he had fewer resources than the two at the wedding, and was struggling to create the right occupation because no one would give him a job. He is “different”, and I understand and abhor the way people treat those who are “different”.
But the point is this: we all have to maneuver. The concept of it is that life itself requires movement and constant toil. It’s how we change, grow, evolve, if you will, from the babies we enter as, into the free spirits we’re supposed to be when we leave. You will never in your time on earth find a place that does not require some sort of acrobatics in some aspect, a place where you are truly at the end of the movie; the cameras never pan out as you walk off set, your lover in your arms, a knowing smile on your face, the score reaching a heart squeezing crescendo, and cut to credits. There’s always more to be done.
As this thought hit me, I smiled to myself. I was alone in my car, so I could get away with having a moment in the midst of my epiphany. I turned up my radio, caressed my momentary joy, imagined the camera panning out as I drove off set into the distance…
And prepared myself for more maneuvering up ahead.

A page in the encyclopedia of experience:

Surreal

Yesterday the sun rose sleepily, as if it was already on its way out; the haze from fires that had been burning in the Anaheim Hills for several hours tinted even the morning's crispness, coloring everything in a soft golden hue. It was an odd feeling; somewhat like having translucent yellow plastic wrap over your eyes. On the news later that evening, I watched as firefighters and policemen attempted to gain control of a situation that seemed so far away. I think it felt that way because, though I've passed by the area a number of times, I'm not really sure that I know anyone there...
I felt for the people trying to evacuate, their trauma being made into a media spectacle, today's breaking story. A reporter attempted to ask a girl (who was in the process of evacuating) how she was dealing with having to pack up her home, possibly permanently, in 15 minutes. He asked how she was choosing things to take, and I couldn't help but wonder if this 30 second soundbyte was going to cost her something more valuable than making the 10:00 news.
This morning I was relieved to look outside and see clarity in the sky. It seems these dreams resolve themselves; strange days do come to an end, and the confusion of things that should not be dissolves along with the urgent voices that constantly scream that today is the only reality we'll ever know.

Crisp freshness of a new year’s birth

Hazy fog clouding everything but vision—

Oh to not be a crazy driver this year!

* * *

On New Year’s Eve camaraderie is at its pinnacle—we’ve made it through something, some unspeakable journey. We watch the ball drop in Times Square, or simply count down with glasses raised in celebration; we make resolutions, just as we have in years past, trying not to think about whether they will be broken, but only about what boldness means when you’re celebrating time’s unceasing march forward. After all, what is a man or woman if they cease to aim for a higher level of existence? There’s an unnatural emptiness in movement without some manner of direction.

So here it goes again. I will tell you right now that I failed to complete some of my resolutions last year—in fact, I failed all the ones I had a sneaking suspicion I would. Yet I will hold to those for another year yet—otherwise, where would I be without a little tenacity to make up for procrastination? Some resolutions I managed to fulfill in the past year—all of which had to do with a changed outlook and personality rather than tasks and trials. These too will remain; life is meant to be a conglomeration of such experiences.

And here’s a new resolution; not for a new year, but for a new perspective on the whole: To find creative power in existence and renewal of myself each day; to truly be the indomitable lion that runs in my blood.

Here’s to 2006, my dear friend. Here’s to courage, resilience and all that makes life truly beautiful.

* * *

Empty streets full of the possibilities of parked cars,

An ancient year never yet seen breathes into our lungs,

One more time I put shoes to ground,

A marvelously new creation.

A Good Laugh

Sorry I've been scarce on here--I've been under the weather the past week and a half or so--ironic since this is one of the few places in this country that hasn't been covered with snow the last month. Anyway, this video quickly got me to feeling more like myself: http://nbc.com/nbc/Video/?c=Saturday_Night_Live/snl_1432_narnia

I hope you can all hold onto those smiles into 2006! If you've got nothing else, you've always got that.

73,000.

That’s how many people have died as a result of a quake a few weeks ago in Pakistan. I can’t wrap my mind around it.

As the radio newscast went on tonight to describe the seemingly insurmountable needs of the victims, I thought of exponential weakness, how I don’t give even $5 sometimes even though I could, and how that $5 multiplies every time I don’t do the right thing with it. I thought about how the world is so full of resources, yet so chaotic and disheveled, we can’t get the most needful things to the right places.

The representative of a large relief organization talked about how this has been a bad year, which is part of the reason for the so called donor fatigue. I gave something for the tsunami victims. I can’t remember how much. Apparently it didn’t hurt very much. I gave something for the hurricane relief in Louisiana; bought a friends’ CD at a benefit concert. In all honesty, perhaps it was more to my benefit than that of the hurricane victims, homeless, trying to build new lives. I give to Compassion, but my heart is sometimes elsewhere…

Tonight, after hearing that newscast, I walked the aisles of the grocery store trying to piece together why some of the things I was buying seemed to be so necessary. I thought of the homeless Pakistanis getting ready to face a Himalayan winter in, if they’re lucky, a tent or a poorly repaired shelter. I thought of millions of children worldwide starving, while I decided whether I wanted Cornpops or Crispix. I thought of the tsunami victims whose lives were swept away as I picked out my lowfat yoghurt.

Something is terribly wrong with this. That’s all I can say and feel right now. I almost didn’t write this blog because when I switched on the tv the Lakers were playing—it pacified me.

Something is horribly wrong with this.



We are such broken cisterns,

The water You’ve filled us with,

Drip, drip, dripping,

Down the drains of our appetites and whims,

No sorrow all the while for parched throats

And dusty feet in the desert far across the sea,

So far, yet so near,

Next door, in fact.



The hungry kid shivers in front of African night firelight,

While I videogame street fight, not quite thinking,

Or even seeing the sleight of devil’s hand,

In one land, or another,

Crazy politicians and their mindgames,

Crazy patricians and their money and fame,

Crazy militia men, madness or glory their aim;



But I find my sick soul sucking it in like honey,

Until you purge me with your Sorrow;

Purge me, All Knower,

Make me live…

Hope.

Perhaps broken wells can still hold water.

Hope.

The world is so full. People, throngs of people, on every continent, brushing up against each other, breathing earth’s air, carrying things back and forth like ants busily rushing in and out of our anthill domiciles. So many things, myriads of manufactured goods, boxes of grain, greenery, groceries, books, crates of cars, barrels of liquor, drums of oil, floods of water, molecules multiplying to overrun it all, plant life thrumming with photosynthetic energy, slicing through thick earth’s crust like a chaotic shell of creation once ordered, now wild and uncontrollable.
We live in all this, seemingly unaware the whole while of the pandemonium that surrounds us. The honking of horns, the bleating of sheep, the crying of babies, the shushing of the wind in tree branches as they crackle with excitement.
It must all be saying something. What, I wonder? When I lay my weary head upon my cotton puffed pillow, pull the blanket up to my chin, and the silent air hovers above my sleepy frame, as I drift off to another world, I listen to what whispers outside my window, a subtle lullaby of place and time, the chef salad bowl of life on earth getting tossed and dressed in seasoned madness and splendor. Imperceptibly, I hear it—the word on a page of God’s imagination, as the page turns, and I float off to my dreams before the crashing in of another day.

My dad emailed me today, asking me to find a particular poem for him, which he had once used in a talk he gave. I used the key words that he had given me:
Jesus, Carpenter, 200 miles, poem
Google gave me 91,700 hits.
As I continued my search, the whole place around me seemed to shift at the impact of a life lived almost 2000 years ago, according to historians; a life I still believe continues, in every sense of the word.
In most of the world, each day's date refers to that time. Millions of lives are changed because of what happened. People die because of it, people go on living because of it, I believe miracles happen in his name, books are written, songs are sung, debates are held, hope is given; in this very room where I sit, the foundations of this building were set, the mortar and plaster and airconditioning ducts were installed, the carpet was laid, my desk and computer were put in place for me to do what I do, all because someone was inspired by a man who, almost 2000 years ago, in a region halfway around the world, took three years of his earthly life to embrace and magnify the mystery of God's person. Oh, I have my beliefs about who he was, whether you may agree with them or not, and why he did what he did. But the place where I find myself today is one of reflection on his impact.
Simply staggering.
That's not just human. It can't be.

"A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is
constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret..." -Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

I got an email from an old friend today; something I had done right in the past had been brought to memory, bringing a smile, as the email brought to my face when I read it. As I read the message, I felt those wings we all strive so hard to maintain, but which we can only feel in our best moments, the moments we make someone smile, or feed the needs of another person. At those points I feel most alive, most real. And sometimes, these things, which we seek to preserve, become the profound secrets that make us us; along with the darkness that often does show up, we carry as part of ourselves the good we possess in our clay-jar beings.
I say this here and now so that no matter how your day was, you can look into your own treasure store of such secrets, received or given, and remind yourself of the goodness in the world.
Blessings, friend.