Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)


Iz and Pal

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Sitting Seventeen

The desert has little to offer—mainly the presence of persistence.

After Karin left Iz and Pal, they were suddenly overtaken by the sleep of exhaustion—just two boys, lying flat on their backs in the ragged remains of a tent, deeply asleep, overcome by worry and woe, welcoming the needed rest, yet nervous about the pending dreams.

And there were dreams.

Iz floated, his body upheld in a liquidy glue of moisture, suspended a few meters above his family’s home. He tried to flip himself over, to look into the windows and see Pada, but he was held down, some force holding his arms, squeezing his legs, forbidding movement. Then it was as if the glue became thicker and oozed around his nostrils, threatening to suffocate the life from him. Struggling, he loosened himself and fell, landing on the roof of his home, hearing the crack of a bone in his right leg.

Voices ascended to the rooftop where he was impaled, writhing in pain. They were mentioning his name. It was “Jubal this” and “Jubal that.” Nothing he could actually discern, nor words that were perceptible. More an angry, disapproving tone.

He was in pain. Then, all the bones in his body started to break, one by one. Gradually the agony was displaced by oblivion. He melted like a piece of ice on a hot summer’s day, his body dribbling down the walls, through the window, pooling in a puddle on the floor of his home. It seemed he was all there—eyes, nose, hands, ears. But each part separated—a toe where an ear should be, a mouth replacing a knee. Gleaming, watery, flat against the ground, he was trying to see, attempting to find Pada.

Then there was a sound—a whoosh of a broom. Dust flew around his puddle of life. He choked—coughing, wheezing. The broom was sweeping him, pushing him toward the door. He splattered down the steps of his home, gushing his life away and landed on the bottom step in a splat—but somehow, once again, whole. Free of all broken bones and molten flesh.

Iz tried to stand but could not. Instead he walked backward on his hands like a crab, reconnoitering his way into the street, which was busy with cars and buses. Yet no one saw him. No one noticed the crab boy creeping along. All at once, a giant hand wearing a yellow shirt-sleeve reached down and picked him up by his right arm, yanking him into the air and placing him at the gate of what appeared to be a great shining city—an ancient site. There was carvings of gold and statues of granite and cedar. He did not know any of the figures, just that they were large, massive and overwhelming.

The gate suddenly opened, and he heard laughter. No—giggling. It was much younger. Free, absent of trouble, broken bones and gelatin flesh. Then a dog, barking at the gate, and men with beards who came and packed him up, carrying him into the city, as a beautiful woman with long, black hair stepped forward and kissed him. It was not the smooch of a sister, but rather, the caress of a friend who would be a lover or at least as much as a twelve-year-old mind could conjure.

He was giddy with the sights and sounds. He was stimulated even more by the woman’s lips. The bearded men carried him on to a huge castle, where he entered the portals and seemed to disappear forever more.

Iz awoke with a start. It was nighttime.

There was a single candle lit, and Pal sat in the shadows, staring at him. “Did you have a dream?” he asked.

Iz was not sure whether he was awake, or if this was part of the continuing saga.

Pal spoke again. “I had a dream.”

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Jesonian: Belly-Aching … May 4, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

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belly acheHe said, “Everybody understands the problems. There’s no need to keep talking about them. We should stop belly-aching.”

He is a minister of the Gospel.

Over the years he has convinced himself that he prefers the “more positive” teachings of Jesus of Nazareth and wishes to focus on them in order to build a congregation of believers who think good thoughts and don’t generate any negative energy toward the world around them.

Here’s the problem: injustice will never leave as long as it’s making a profit. So it’s up to the prophets to chase injustice away through pointing out its hypocrisy and deceit.

Even though Jesus is portrayed by many churches as a combination of Gandhi and a hippie attending Woodstock, the young Nazarene actually has quite an edge.

Especially as he reached the end of his Earth journey, he began to spout off profusely against the excesses of religion, the selfishness of systems and the indifference of leadership.

There are three chapters in a row–Matthew 23, 24 and 25–where he exhibits his own form of belly-aching. Because you see, belly-aching occurs when you consume something that doesn’t agree with you, and is only relieved when you dispel the thing with which you do not agree.

Understanding that most of you may not want to read the three chapters, if you will allow me, I’ll summarize:

In Matthew 23, Jesus viciously attacks the scribes, Pharisees and lawyers who used their position to extort wealth while doing nothing to relieve the burdens of the people around them. He claims that they cared more for their traditions than they did for the human beings placed in their charge.

So because of their iniquity, in Matthew 24 he informs them that the Romans would come and dismantle their entire hierarchy and destroy their city.

To further reiterate the necessity for repentance, he tells a series of parables in Matthew 25 about a Judgement Day in which God, our Father and Creator, will expect us to deliver evidence of our faith and victory during our human escapade.

The three chapters are full of complaint, warnings, admonitions and some downright insults.

We forgive this belly-aching because the prophesy came true and we understand that the message Jesus preached survives today. To determine whether we are just purveyors of doom and gloom or messengers of hope, we have to keep three things in mind:

1. Never do anything to hurt people, but also do not permit anything to happen that is hurting people.

2. Never offer a warning without giving an olive branch of hope. Nothing is over until God says it is.

3. Always note progress–even if it’s a little–and appreciate it when you see movement toward sanity.

So am I a belly-acher?

If I run across ideas which historically have been proven to be foolish, and I see injustice which is cheating people out of the value of their human lives, or if I come across greed which is suffocating the life out of the needy, I will speak out, using every bit of cleverness, comedy and even cunning that I can muster.

Because without doing this, we become part of a third clump … the ones who stood by and watched the oppressor oppress the helpless.

 

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Resurrectional Vehicle … April 17, 2013

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Delighted man I was when I awoke this morning, looked at my calendar and realized I was going to be traveling to the Lutheran Church of the Resurrection in San Antonio tonight to meet some inspiring folks.

It thrilled my soul because I love the word “resurrection”–and not simply because I am a believer in the emergence of Jesus of Nazareth from a tomb. It is also because resurrection sets in motion a manner of thinking that is necessary to maintain human health and well-being.

Candidly, to be successful on this planet we call “earth,” one must be able to distinguish between what is dead and what is living. It also helps if you don’t despair over the demise of certain things to the point of becoming immoveable. And it is beneficial as well if you don’t bury good things alive, suffocating them under your fear, tradition and culture.

So as I go tonight to experience the Lutheran Church of the Resurrection, I will certainly and willingly impart to them my teaspoon of understanding about life and the power of coming back from the dead.

It is a four-step process–because sometimes you come across things in your life that are ailing and failing, and with a quick step and some good cheer, you:

1. Let it die. Here’s a little saying you might want to adopt for yourself: if it ain’t growin’, it’s dyin’. When I owned a house in Hendersonville, I had two projects I took on to train myself to be a domesticated land owner. First, I filled my walk-in closet with clothing so I would have choices on what to wear from day to day. Secondly, I went out into my front yard and decided to try out my green thumb by planting flowers and such.

First the closet. In no time at all, through the generosity of gifts from others and my own purchases, I had garments aplenty. One day I noticed that I was only wearing about five different outfits each week. The rest of my clothes hung in the closet, gathering dust and occasionally growling at me when I passed them by for my more preferred choices.

Now to the flower bed. I think it could be stated that my flower bed was dead. I don’t know what goes into pursuing botanical projects, but that gift seems to have eluded me. Soon I had quite an array of brown flowers.

So I went out, dug up my flowers and planted bushes (more durable) and I took all the clothes from my closet that I was not wearing and gave them to someone who might put them to work. It wasn’t growing; it was dying. So I let it die.

2. Bury it deep. We forget to make our changes obvious. For instance, I let everybody KNOW that I was abandoning becoming a clothes horse, and that I was no longer pursuing gardening. It’s important. Otherwise for the next several months, people will continue to give you seeds for your garden and clothes for your closet. Make it obvious by burying it deep.

3. Wait a spell. Jesus was in the grave for three days. Why? Because sometimes the trauma of letting something die and burying it needs to be separated from the exaltation of starting over again. I did not immediately leap into a new project to replace my closet and my flowers. I simply began to enjoy my life. Folks spend too much time on the clock and not enough time enjoying themselves, giving air to their lives to prepare for the next task.

4. And finally, roll the stone. That’s right. When it’s time to reappear with a new project after having waited a spell to recover from your last “killer event,” come out victorious. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every Sunday morning, the doors of the church burst open and people emerged with smiles on their faces, clapping their hands and hugging one another? A resurrection SHOULD look like we enjoyed it. Coming back from the “grave” circumstances we are in should put a smile on our faces.

So–being a great lover of resurrection and understanding the four steps of the “resurrectional vehicle,” I go to visit these dear hearts tonight. I will tell them not to be afraid to let some things die, bury them deep, wait a spell and then … roll the stone.

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