Pierre Teilhard de Chardin quotes

Words to live by.

Love is the threshold of another universe.

We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience.

We only have to look around us to see how complexity and psychic temperature are still rising: and rising no longer on the scale of the individual but now on that of the planet.

A universal love is not only psychologically possible; it is the only complete and final way in which we are able to love.

A true story from my days in Richmond VA

IMG_0290One of my buddies lived in a rough part of town. A blue collar guy. A big, burly factory machinist who rides a motorcycle. He was home alone one day, taking a shower, when he heard some noise out in his living room. Someone was rummaging through his shit, knocking stuff over. Clearly a break-in.

He didn’t have time to think so he jumped out of the shower and grabbed the nearest weapon. A hammer that was on his dresser in the bedroom. He ran out into the living room all naked and hairy and wet, grunting while waving the hammer over his head like he was going to smash the guy’s skull.

The dude was terrified. A young-ish inner city thug. The kid took off running and screaming. Didn’t get a chance to steal anything. Huge win for my buddy.

Moral of the story: no matter your lot in life, don’t fuck with other peoples’ shit.

What happens to homeless people in small towns?

20131115-100937.jpgI talked a little about this topic a couple months ago. Abundance and lack. But today, I was thinking about it a little bit differently.

Imagine a small rural town of 100 people or so. The kind of place with a one stoplight and a business or two. The families who live there maybe have farmland or they drive to work in the nearest city.

Now imagine one of the children in that town starts showing symptoms of schizophrenia as a teenager. A family of three – the parents and this kid. The parents don’t know better, so this mental illness is left untreated. Perhaps the family can’t cope. They give up. Eventually that kid grows up and tries to start a life of his own.

So anyway, now you have a man who can’t take care of himself. He’s old enough that his parents pass away. He’s 40 now. He can’t maintain the appearance of sanity for any stretch long enough to hold down a job. He loses his apartment. He has no other choice than to sleep on the bench outside the gas station at that one stoplight in town. That first night is rough and confusing and hopeless. Day one of homelessness.

Do you think the people who live there walk right by him? Do they ignore him? Are they annoyed that they are forced to see his sad dirty face that next morning as they’re gassing up their cars? Does the gas station attendant shoo him away? “Go somewhere else!”

Maybe. I really don’t know. But my gut tells me someone, or everyone, helps this guy out in that situation. They offer him a place to sleep. Someone recognizes he needs to see a doctor. Someone has mercy for this poor guy and gives him a lift to the city where hopefully he can get some assistance, some medical care. I don’t know. But I hope that’s what happens.

What I do know is that’s not what happens here in Philly. In a city where hundreds of thousands of people (or maybe more than a million) work every day. How many homeless people do you think there are here? Hundreds? Maybe more than a thousand? I looked it up. There are more than 12,000 homeless people in this city.

And what happens to those people? They’re a nuisance. They’re ignored. It was 25 degrees outside a few days ago. And I saw the same homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks the next morning. They’re just there. “Can I get some money for something to eat?” That phrase we hear several times a day. It’s an annoyance. The phrase itself, the request – that’s the problem to most people. It’s too much effort to even respond with a “no”. Instead, we look straight ahead and keep walking.

I don’t know what I think we should do. But it doesn’t seem like what we’re doing now is the right thing.

And I know this is just one problem. 12,000 suffering people. Maybe we’re not helping them because we’re focused on solving bigger problems. Maybe we’re actively helping to fund books and supplies for underprivileged kids who couldn’t otherwise have the bare minimums for public school. Maybe we’re volunteering at a shelter for battered women to help get them on their own two feet. Maybe we’re offering companionship at a hospice center to people without families.

Or maybe we’re watching TV. And playing with our phones. And updating our fantasy football rosters.

I really don’t know. But it seems like we should be doing something. Anything.

Painfully self-aware

What is there to say no to?
What is there to say no to?
In college, I studied film criticism more or less. I took classes like Screenwriting, Hitchcock, and French New Wave. My major was called Film Studies.

In one of my classes – Sophomore year I think – the professor wanted us to get in touch with our inner creative voice. He started things off by explaining how everyone is influenced by their own personal background. How everyone brings into every interaction their own baggage. Things like race and gender and class and personal prejudices, etc.

Our task was to look into ourselves and think about how our own experiences defined us. And then deliver a creative assignment illustrating that. It could be a short story or a screenplay or something visual. I decided to make a short film – well, a video.

The problem is, I looked at myself as a white, male, middle class, college student from the suburbs. How could my perspective possibly be anything other than “embarrassingly normal”? What could I possibly have to say? That’s the problem you run into when you ask a young person to define himself.

I didn’t solve the problem. Instead, I focused the piece on my Scottish/English ancestry and how that influenced me. In reality, I think there were a hundred or even a thousand other things that made much more of an impact on my character. I was just too shortsighted to see it. I was not self aware. I turned in the project and was graded accordingly. No harm done.

But I think back to that assignment from time to time. Since then, I’ve become painfully self aware. I constantly think about why I react the way I do to certain things. What baggage am I bringing into relationships? Am I an asshole? Am I pretentious? Am I acting like a loving husband/father/worker? My thoughts are often filled with these kind of navel-gazing ponderings. And I think it’s healthy. I want to make a positive impact whenever possible. And when I fuck up, I want to feel it, and hopefully make up for it.

And even more interesting to me, when I look back on that assignment I see a 19-year-old kid who was quite unusual. I brought a ton of baggage into every interaction. I was not, even as a white, middle class male, a “normal” kid. I was vegetarian, agnostic, into psychedelics and pot, Libertarian, skinny, Floridian, wild-haired, into punk rock, artsy, alcoholic, the list goes on and on. If I could go back in time, I could coach that kid into delivering one hell of a short film. All that angst and energy could have been focused into something visceral and wonderful.

But we learn. Time goes on. We gain perspective and focus. And sometimes we end up all right in the end.

I’ve never been in a fight

317623_10151247621203582_1746663406_nI’ve never been in a fight, but I have been beaten.

7th Grade
When I was in 7th grade, I was standing in the courtyard outside school in downtown Tampa with all the other kids waiting for school to open. My friends and I were bused in from the suburbs about 45 minutes into the inner city. The buses dropped us off early before the class started, so we all had to wait out there in a massive group. Hundreds of us.

I was standing there holding my school bag with books in it. I had a duffel bag style thing, not a backpack. A couple of kids were running around, chasing each other. Just being silly. One of them, a local kid, weaved through the crowd and accidentally kicked my bag. He didn’t see it and it hit his shin pretty hard.

He stopped on a dime, turned to face me, and closed-fist punched me in the jaw. Then he took off running and laughing again with his friends.

6th Grade
A year earlier, I was on the bus on the way home from school. 45 minute ride from Tampa back to the burbs. A tough kid, sort of a rocker kind of guy, was sitting next to me on the bus. I only kind of knew him. Same social circle, but we weren’t friends.

One of us sort of accidentally bumped the other with his elbow. And it was kind of a funny accident. Like the elbow to the ribs “haha that was a funny joke” thing that dorky dads do.

The other retaliated with the same elbow move and laughed. It was funny. It went back and forth like that, harder and harder.

Then instead of elbowing him, I raised my hand and sort of slapped his face. Kids would slap fight all the time. And I thought it would be funny. Because sometimes I’m an idiot.

He stood up and punched me in the face. He pushed me into the aisle. I fell onto my back. He stood over me and started kicking me in the ribs. Over and over. Then his finishing move was, he stomped my face. I was bloody and bruised.

I don’t remember how the fight broke up, but I remember the bus got to my street and I got off with my friends. There was no fight. Just one guy beating up another guy.

And when I got home I looked in the mirror to check out my bloody mouth. There was a crystal clear impression of the tread from his Vans sneakers across my cheekbone. You could even see the “Vans” lettering.

Since then
To this day, I’ve never punched someone in the face. Does that make me a pacifist? Or maybe a wimp. Is it unusual? It seems like every guy has been in a real fight at least once in their life.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I want to fight someone. Fighting certainly isn’t smart or right. But I do look back and kind of wish I stood up for myself more. Though I don’t know what good it would have done or what kind of person I would have become.

I guess I turned out okay.