I heard it
again: ‘we’re all a small adjustment
away from making it work.’ If I know how
to make that adjustment, if I knew what that adjustment was, I’d be happy, in
an unselfishy happy way that is.
Breakfast at
McDonalds, a coffee at Caribou and lunch at Burger King. If I did this every day I’d buy zantac in
bulk. The 9am mass was standing room
only, it was good to be among the faithful again. Crossing the border was a piece of cake, such
a liberating walk, even at seven in the morning. Pacos was closed because of the new year and
I found a new shirt the fella at Nauticas let me try on first, 50% off what a
deal.
After mass I
went to the parish office and the Belgian sister behind the counter sold me the
Catholic Edition of an RSV Bible with a most interesting section at the
beginning entitled “Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation” Dei Verbum,
18 November 1965:
“In
determining the intention of the sacred writers, attention must be paid, among
other things, to literary genre.”
“The fact
is that truth is differently presented and expressed in the various types of
historical writing, in prophetical and poetical texts, and in other forms of
literary expression. Hence the exegete
must look for that meaning which the sacred writers, in given situations, and
granted the circumstances of their time and culture, intended to express and
did in fact express, through the medium of a contemporary literary form. (St. Augustine) Rightly to understand what
the sacred writers wanted to affirm in their work, due attention must be paid
both to the customary and characteristic patterns of perception, speech and
narrative which prevailed in their time, and to the conventions which people
then observed in their dealings with one another”. (Pius XII)
This is the
greatest story ever told, it can’t be denied, at least in the west. In today’s homily the priest reminded us two
commandments that summated six hundred and the application, simply put, is
reasonable, relevant and universally true but reading a two thousand year old
text with a twenty first century mindset results in different deductions. Our intentions may be noble and righteous
when we quote scripture for the touchdown or the new job but contemporary truth
couldn’t be further from ancient truth. The spirit of the faith is sacred and
thus must be implicit in light of the times we live in, intended solely for an
audience that accepts it.
“I am the
way, the truth and the life. No man
comes to the father but by me.” But if
you are a committed and practicing Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim or even a Jew,
you’ve been given a different roadmap and this proclamation doesn’t apply to
you. It applies to those who seek.
Islam, on
the other hand, skirmishes with change and fears it will erase or skewer the
intentions of the writers of their holy book.
Muslims look at the west and see democracy and Christianity entwined,
interpreted to fit with manifest destiny.
Jefferson embraced the libertarian spirit but refrained from crediting human
achievement with a personal providence, and unlike Islam, our third president
trusted the human spirit would consider each other's needs before their own, if
not for Jesus’ sake but for natural truth.
In hindsight it was, and is, noble though John Adams wasn’t as optimistic
and said man needed to be governed. Islam’s rule of law is a social contract
with little room for rapidly changing interpretations and that is disconcerting.
10.25.14
A thirty
five minute walk along the dusty roads, past a row of water pump repairing shops and
hundreds of darkly lit caves filled with auto accessories, slightly cool breezes couldn’t hide
an irritating rash between a fold. Where
did that come from?
I am glad I
picked up a laptop this summer. A few
hours this afternoon making a review sheet for my students was well spent. Last week I sent a similar study guide to the
teachers and included in the bottom right corner; ©jon. Five years ago I
submitted the lit up coffee pot photo to the university’s online journal and
hey it won, though there was no money attached.
The next year I went to the tesol Arabia conference and found the
university booth with the image plastered on their brochures and
propaganda. The university didn’t tell
or ask me for permission and I didn’t know a submission suddenly became their
property so I was somewhat irate. Now
this university/company wishes us to submit our work into a sharefile which is
not protected and which anyone can take so I’m sticking the copy write symbol
on it even though I know anyone can remove it.
I will freely share my original material with anyone but really, credit
ought to be given to the maker, that’s all.
Churning in
the Arabian Sea is a tropical depression and no one knows if it’ll turn into a
cyclone or turn westward and plow into Oman, though if it does we here 350 plus
kilometers away may catch some of it and all classes will be called off. Yeah, I know, I love the fall semester.
10.26.14
8:37pm—Nothing
on television, it’s too dark and my eyes are too tired to read. The daylight hours were spent reading QB VII and it is good. This is the second Uris book I’ve read where
one of his characters is a promising writer who makes it into the publishing
world. It isn’t talent, he says, it’s
the relentless pursuit of telling a good story.
And in both stories they started young.
I had a good story 28 years ago, Henry, the Russian Jew who cut my hair
for years. I wrote his story for a
creative writing class at Tyndale. Why
didn’t I pursue writing then, I do not know.
I went to China after that college and that was it. A tailspin into a decade of the oblivious.
I need to
get the internet into the grotto so I may pursue because I’ll never snap this
solitary lethargy without that portal of knowledge. Praying and praying and praying and where has
it led me? Praying for a portal to
pursue with passion could be pleasantly pleasing to the spirit. What happened to the excursions across the
border that were to improve a desired quality of life. I know, it’s so surreal over there, every
street has memories and I don’t belong, it’s a peculiar melancholy.
Today I
finished marking student’s descriptive essays of their cities. One described Sohar as a place where the
night sees hustlers on the streets, more so on the weekend. Ninety minutes away, it is undergoing a
serious boom and for all the foreigners flooding in with it comes the
illicit. Last year the government closed
all Indian nightclubs throughout the country and hotels without a four star
status can no longer serve alcohol.
Sohar appears to be the exception.
Am I interested in checking it out?
No, desire is met handedly with a sigh, a suck of a cigarette, and
sleep.
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