Sunday, January 09, 2005

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Working out the headcramps: the rebirth of Mattyaction

Ever had a headcramp? I've had numerous since my last post.

The most recent incident came during the NCAA football national championship game's halftime show last Tuesday where I was blessed with a performance by the unexplainable pop phenomenon/oddity that is Ashlee (not Ashley, that would be too normal to stand out among the onslaught of highly unique artists present in our culture) Simpson. "Stranger" and "alien" were never more befitting titles for me during Ashleeeeeeeeeee's oh-so-long 2.5 minute set, which including various squawks, thrusts and lots of black apparel (so as to differentiate herself from her more talented, grown up Barbie older sister). Midway through the show I realized I had moved from the sofa to a standing position two feet in front of the television, perhaps thinking a closer view would reveal to me what everyone else saw and what I was obviously missing. But the only revelation I received was the awareness that a puddle of drool was about to collect at my feet if I didn't shut my gaping mouth. I received some relief when the entire stadium of 60,000+ booed the 20-year-old endlessly after her last note had been played, but then I realized that this was the same fickle public who loved Paris Hilton even more after her home movie mishap, Janet Jackson after her "wardrobe malfunction" at last year's Super Bowl and MTV even though there is little musical or entertaining about it now. Yes, Ashleeeeeeee Simpson, your career will be okay, and I will remain an alien, a foreigner, a stranger in a strange land.

Another less biting, more literal headcramp story occured about a week ago while I was drifting into that part of sleep where you know you're falling asleep. Sort of the last moment of awareness before completely going under for the night. A warm, slightly euphoric, fuzzy feeling took up residence in my socked feet, the blanket seemed to in fact became a security and that last long yawn of the night emerged. And then, my entire head felt like a building able to implode. The cramp began under my chin, spread up either side of my face to the temples and reached up, over and around to the nerve centers at the base of my skull. While you can try to walk out a cramp in a leg or foot, there's not much you can do for a headcramp. Gripping my head tightly with both hands seemed the most sensible thing to do at the time. Quite honestly, it was the most helpless feeling I've ever experienced, though but for a few short moments. Very weird. Thankfully the moment passed with little permanant dain bramage, I'm rappy to heport you to.

Then, there's been my metaphorical headcramp, my silence on this site for the past six weeks or so. Much has happened in life.... your's, mine, the world's. The celebration of our Savior's birth and the strategic commericalized period of time that coincides, a massive natural disaster than continues to stagger the world both literally and emotionally, birthdays of family and friends and the birth of another year.

I'm not one for new year resolution's. The time makes me nostalgic of "better times" when life was simpler, and weary of hopes and expectations, though painfully denied to be either to myself, dashed to pieces on the rocks, only to be reassembled and destroyed again. I don't want to bother you, the reader, with these things. I don't even want to bother myself with them. It's not pleasant. It's much easier to fall into the immediacy of comfort. What good can come from these masquerades, but yet, do you really want to know what takes place between these ears on a daily basis? Do I?

As a writer, I want closure. I want a definite ending with meaning and purpose to every post so as to be beneficial to you, be it serious or nonsensicle, and not some uncomfortable piece of haphazard mental scratchings on screen that trail off into the sunset without a resolution. Tallyhoo seems to have expressed similar feelings concerning his contributions to xanga recently in his Closing Statement: "I’m certain two things would happen if I wrote everything here that I penned in my other journal: one, many more people would faithfully return, two, many who already do would grow concerned for me, perhaps even stop talking to me in the non-synthetic world."

I have a theory. It's been present in my mind for quite awhile, but was resuscitated recently while studying Psalm 42. The text is a favorite of mine from the Sons (a son, possibly) of Korah, lamenting a two-sided, Jekyll and Hyde-ish nature that knows who God is and what He has done in the past, while simultaneously writhing in pools of doubt and faithlessness. It's really quite confusing and distorted. One minute he's praising God, but a verse later he seems to totally negate his previous words, and then later he admits that he knows the truth and the answer to his problems but still seems to give into his depression. Confusion, fascination and dirty laundry all wrapped into a single psalm. Check it out.

I've always enjoyed the psalm because it so accurately described many of the emotions I've been too scared to admit at times in the past, but recently I was struck by the fact that this text was not only in the Bible but was obviously divinely intended by God for his people. I can't imagine that Korah's Kids intended for it to be made public, yet what an encouragement from such transparency? And it makes me wonder, what would it be like to be able to do that? To get it over with and spread out my dirty laundry for the world to see exactly who I am? I heard the musician/writer/preacher Derek Webb talk about the possibilities of such an approach to the Christian walk in a November 2003 concert in Knoxville, and the thought became both exhillariting and terrifying at the same time. There is the possibility there for my audience, though they may, and most likely do, struggle with same problems, to point the finger and push me further into the slough of despondency, but there is even greater potential there for "iron to sharpen iron." Honestly, I don't think it's possible in its entirety in this life, because there's a great possibility for failure. Often I've seen a skewed version of this idea on xanga by wanna-be goth teens looking to out-shock each other with their "darkness," as if "my daddy is stronger than your daddy" comparisons from elementary school were replaced by "my ugliness is uglier that your's" debates somewhere after puberty. And I've even seen some Christians who spell out their weaknesses like they're things to be proud about.

I'm far from adopting this approach, but I do think that much of our Jekyll-Hyde-ishness (sorry) is only exacerbated by the fact that we don't "confess our sins to each other" like James says. Surely there are things not proper in some circumstances and with some people, but I have to scratch my head and wonder how less mediocre our lives might become were we more transparent. Might we realize that we're not so abnormal or weird? Ships in the night. Willing unkowing members of a masquerade. Whatever analogy you prefer. I can write down these scattered thoughts for myself, but it's not getting me anywhere. If anything, I can look back and see where I struggled with the same things year before. It strikes me that God not only works on an individual basis with us but through our corporate fellowship too.

So here I am. You can stop sending "would you please post something on your xanga" emails to my inbox. I still hate new year's resolutions, but for my own good, and hopefully everyone's, I want more transparency here, even if it isn't neatly packaged with a clever ending and an After School Special-like moral of the story.

And hopefully, five weeks from now there will be more than one post here.

Currently Reading Searching For God Knows What By Donald Miller