All the Best of Me

When together, it made sense. That thing you’d do. That thing I’d do.

Caring for another person, going out of your way to do accomodate the strength or weakness of your friend. Your best friend. Let’s do what you want. I’ll hold that for you.

I can wait. I can walk. I won’t run.

It’s doesn’t work when that thing isn’t there anymore. That thing is so simple yet so vital. I felt uncomfortable giving you that thing when I didn’t know if you cared. You probably felt the same, but in a way that I wouldn’t know. Too kind to be spiteful but really in a different place.

So I told myself that it is okay. I told myself that I could choose good for someone else even though nothing was given back. I told myself to choose even though there wasn’t any other choice.

I want to be better at this. I want to grow in this way: to learn to love in a way that isn’t so conditional, isn’t so provisional, and isn’t so sensational. I don’t want my love to be delusional, unreasonable, and unkind.

So I’m here, and at my best, my love for you is all of the best of me. Kind, hopeful, patient, gentle, relentless, tenacious, one-step-ahead, joyful, a wait-for-you-while-you-go-to-the-bathroom-for-a-long-time kind of thing. It is: I dont care, I’m just glad to be around. At my worse, it disappears, it is overcome by feelings, it is angry, screaming (quietly like a baby) from a place of hurt. Afraid, protective (of self), single-sensed (narrow mineded), cynical, sad, and empty. All the dark.

When I consider the possibility, to have and to hold, I am slightly afraid but fully aware of the possibilities. I understand the ability to hurt yet, I also understand the possibility to forgive. I realized, that intimacy grows even from a process of past hurt towards forgiveness. When we talk and connect, it brings closure to the past.

I guess my hope is that closure ot the past allows for a new future to be had. I know that this hope is worth it, it is true, it is real. I know that it will happen, as it already has, but I just want back all of the good.

Work One

This is sparse, but I want to get it down quickly, as there are many other big things happening right now.

People were kind today. I know they’ll really miss me, and they showed that well to me. Endings are powerful because they reveal who we really are. Our reserved kindness comes out. We hug even if we never have before. We realize that it isn’t the same and there was something good in the day to day drudgery of repetitive tasks that had weight. We realize that we aren’t just doing boring things, but that we spent time together. We realize our humanness.

I’ll miss my work and the people there more after being away. It seems obvious, but the good-bye begins when you give back your key and you step out the door, not able to come in anymore. At that point, when you can’t enter back, is the point where you say bye. And then, going down the elevator with one close friend, the comfort of what was, hurts. It hurts because my body craves the comfort of consistency.

When we talk about work as Diablo, we just talk about everything that we can’t have, don’t have and don’t want. The work itself, the pressure, the appreciation we don’t get, the worth we want to be granted. It is all unmet longing and we hate it, together. Together we talk and it isn’t the nice talk about yesterday or today. It is the talk that turns blood from red to back, that turns lunch into work again (what are we thinking to dare talk about work and work!?). It borns the response: “Don’t talk about work please.” Cursed is the grown we stand upon that needs us to dig deep and break for things to grow. There is something sad about all of this.

I realize that part of what isn’t good at work, what hurts us, is important. But just as important, is the collection of people that you get to be with. It is probably the one place, outside of religious and athletic groups, where people will consistently choose for, not knowing who they will be with. So in the case of millionaire basketball players who want to play with their friends and people who they trust, I believe that is a good thing. I will edit this later.

I shook his hand, and it was clear, at that point, that the relationship would change. Something changed when he was granted the shackles of responsibility and the ability to command a whip. I resented the prodding and I forgot about the pressure to succeed. He answered to a new boss, and thus, in becoming mine, demanded excellence everyday. I had so much to learn from this position in our group. I learned that I was here to produce.

I feel relieved to be done. Some of my friends were happier than me. “take me with you”. “can i go too?” oh man. good night.

No title for now

What I learned tonight.

1. Just because people don’t respond the way you want them to, doesn’t mean they don’t love you.

2. Limits are real, and I have a hard time when people express the limits of their love for me.

3. I am easily disappointed and disillusioned by a view of community that is selfish.

4. I am at my best when I am fully known, and fully loved. People are part of that picture but can almost never be the full expression of that need.

Brakefast

Fastbreak, the frenzy of getting stuff done.
Breakfast, the nourishment for what is to come.
Break fast, a painful and abrupt change.
Brake fast, the reaction to a potential accident.

I’m still having a hard time sleeping. I think it’s the looming move, the messy room, the open edits, the unpaid bills, the budget unmade, bed unkept, the lunch not-yet-packed, the list that goes on. Then there’s the other side of the work, the future unknown, the heart’s unanswered longings. Wait, that was three word’s in a see of twos. A break in the pattern.

I am fully aware of the things the keep me up at night and wake me in morning. It, she, he, her, they, them, when, where, how, what, why. All of you want to hang out late at night, and then you make me up in the morning. A vampire child; late to sleep, early to rise. I like to thank each moment in the day as things and places where my inner vamp lets go of the blood sucking and my inner child finds a place where he is loved, known and cared for.

I’m looking for a break in the pattern. Maybe a brake is the only available. Slow down. Then stop. Full stop. Look both ways. Acknowledge the present of the other. After the silent gesture of presence (or lack of, if there is no other), make the move, trusting the space and the time after stopping.

Yesterday I stopped myself, but I kept moving. I told myself to brake. Break from the things to do, and the things undone. Brake the wonderful mind that wonders too fast. Break the habit of feeling alone too long. Brake because it is time to stop. I told myself to feel the ground under me. Sense the gravity of life that holds me in place; steady, able, present and loving. For a moment, I stopped running through it all and it felt solid and light.

I’m at my best when my soul is quiet and still yet fully present and aware. It is when I talk to Omar on the corner, Marlin at his home, calming down Yusef in his frenzy, and playing with Istam and Sibera. These people and these interactions remind that there are good patterns within me. A brake in the pattern.

Table Talk

I’ve been cooking again, and it tastes different. I made a stack of French toast, fruit, and tea. A stack taller than my belly’s depth, a taste crisper than a morning run. It looked good, but it tasted slow.

I taste the smell of something that once was easy. It has all the parts of what I love: soaking the bread in the special mix of egg, milk, nutmeg and vanilla. Dropped down into the pan, it fries, and the sweet smell of beauty floats up, slightly charred but full of life. It was easy to love you this way. I loved to do it.

I still love to cook and when for others, it finds it’s best hope. The food tastes so good, but I miss you. I miss the preparation, the conversation; between me, you and the ingredients. In greediness I lost myself, wanting too much flavor, wanting too much in one bite. I understand a wholesome meal with the full pyramid of health, on top with the veggies and fruits, and hidden are the sweets and breads. I am becoming whole in my vision, in my hopes, in the table of life that has been set before me. Sometimes the table is empty and sometimes it is is really cluttered. I keep cooking, putting food on the table, where it finds its best hope.

One day I know the food will taste different. I will set the table, and it will be less about manna I hoarded and more about the manna that falls fresh, every morning to satisfy me. Out the window I’ll look, and the morning cloud and evening fire will lead me on.

Sing

Sometimes I don’t let myself cry. I’m afraid that I’ll care too much and that I’ll stay stuck in that sadness. I’m afraid to become consumed by it, and that I need to move on. I’m afraid.

So tonight I let myself. I sang that deep longing song, of a broken and tired spirit. I sang that song that comes from the unsaid pain. The struggle withheld. I cried again, and it made sense. I have to remind myself that I can feel, that I can be human with it all. I have to remind myself that I don’t need to be afraid, but if I am, it’s okay.

Maybe moving on means that I get to cry and I get to feel the loss. Maybe I’m learning, in the hardest way, to be full in who I am: caring, hopeful, hurt from loss, and a bit uncertain about how to handle a lost love. I have been strong and resolved lately, which has helped me move forward in hopeful ways. Still, there is the thing in me that deeply misses her and I struggle on how to deal with those things that are alive in me. The things that burn.

It’s hard to hear people talk about her, even in short passing comments. I thought I was over it. I kind of have this thing in my heart that I shield when her name comes up or she’s mentioned. I block my heart’s ears, sometimes fully, but often, just part way. My mind says that a little dose of those particular sound waves is okay. Her name and what’s going on are okay, and to let my heart hear just a little is okay. Maybe. Not. Maybe it can happen that I’d be okay to hear it all. Maybe.

It isn’t the strong emotions or feelings that are a problem. They are real, and honest. They are part of me. Where I go after things are felt, and how I respond to it all is important. I’ve realized that more and more, and I’ve had a lot of practice in all of it this year. I have been responding in really good ways, and for that I am humbled and grateful.

I don’t know if she would ever love me again. I know that it hurts, I feel it. But I don’t know if that’s the point. The point is exactly what I’m doing, and who I am now, in light of what hurts, what I long for, and what I’m growing into. In the wildest way, love, true love, actually is stronger and powerful enough to speak to me in the depths of the sadness. I long for the comfort of one who knows me, loves me, and tells me that it’s going to be okay. Love, come down.

So I (re)accept the gift of who I am. I accept all of me, in the fullness of my emotions, my leanings, my passions, my hopes, and my upbringing. I also accept the responsibility of the gift. To be anything other than myself is violent to my soul, yet it isn’t always so easy. I told a friend the other day that people are waiting for his leadership. I realized that I was speaking to myself. The lead is of love, not disdain and bitterness. The lead is of hope, massive doses of sunlight, and the darkness that will come. So here I am, take it or leave it. I’m taking it all.

Tomorrow always feels better. I may wake up tired, but the sun begins the cycle, and I can try to sing it again.

Crush Uncurl

There’s a certain feeling that comes when you say goodbye to someone for possibly the last time.

It is full of anticipation, appreciation, and care. It is full because it recognizes what was there: time spent together, times complaining together, and time, which builds a sense of connection, care, and experience.

I said goodbye to my coworker today, and it was awesome. I knew her for only a short time, but in that time, I felt like I was able be kind again at work. Something that’s hard in the machine-like nature of production. It was awesome to learn that she is a photographer, and to have someone else to talk shop together. It was nice to talk to someone who is free enough to take risks, something I’ve pushed deep, deep, deep into my own pockets. My fingers started to pick at the risky lint. Maybe I could uncurl the balls and they’d be able to float away into the air. I’d listen to her talk about what she wanted to do and sometimes she said “we”. I thought to myself: Maybe these lint balls need to bloom. I liked being the included “we” and maybe I could begin to loosen up what’s in my pockets.

I’m going to miss her.

One of the special things we can do together is to do things together. It seems so simple, but it means so much to be able to come back to a friend and say: “Remember when”.

“Remember when” means that I was not alone then, and I am not alone now, when I think about my life.

Show Up

I’ve decided, for this season of life, that I will set aside Tuesdays to help out at tutoring. I realized today that I have many things to do and if no one shows up, I feel like it’s a waste of time: I have food I need to shop for, clothes to wash, emails to write, and maybe i could just go for a walk and enjoy the warm summer air. All good an important things that need to get done at some point.

But maybe it’s more about showing up, committing to be there, and in being there, something good may happen. Some days, there’s not much there, and people come or don’t come and it challenges the values I put on time.

Angelo(,michael) showed up at the end of the time, and his sincereness and kindness really jolted me back into my place. I was touched by his kindness and for his acknowledgement of me and Jared, two chinese dudes, just kind of waiting to be helpful. He was kind, hopeful and honest. What a gift.

Jared too switched into tutoring Chinese and was just on fire: so eager and caring in sharing the gift of his knowledge of the Chinese language. And this doing so with a young hispanic teen, eager to learn the various tones of “Me”, “You”, “Them”. In some ways I think Angelo and Jared expressed who they were fully. Angelo’s kindness and honesty. Jared’s deep love for China and Chinese (himself). What a gift.

And I received the gift of community. I was able to see Holly, who told me the story of how she saw me earlier biking ( and that my floss dropped out of my bag and a car ran over it), connect with Jared about China and the 789 Art District, talk to Alex about life (and receive free food from her and her house), listen to Jared’s joyful tutoring, meet Angelo, and earlier to talk to Sarady on the phone.

I’m glad I stayed for the gifts to show up.

Not Even an Enemy

I’ve started a project with my friend Dave, a series of paintings in collaboration with each other. And, I think there is something going on right now that resonates deep in my soul.

Our collaboration’s theme is: DISCONNECT.

Ironic? Yes, slightly. Paradox? Somewhat.

The big news yesterday was of Osama Bin Laden’s assassination. Even ESPN had it as it’s top link for info. On the main sports news source? That felt strange.

It felt strange receiving the news and thinking about the justice and joy that many expressed. I felt conflicted. I have been working through my own suffering and that of others, and as I grow in this process, I am learning that our life and life in general is that paradox: simple and complex. There is a deep darkness within us yet great potential for love and hope. Why did O. B. L.’s death feel like a relief that wouldn’t ever be fully satisfied? I wasn’t happy or sad, just slightly disturbed.

The internet made sense today, and this quote, posted here and here, seemed to help me understand truly how I feel.

“I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that”

Anon.

drawNYC

A drawing while on the subway.

York, New

This is only my second time here, but I can see how people either love this place or hate it. It is dirty, busy, and the grit is right there: at your feet, on your subway seat, talking to you, staring right at you. Still all of this is beautiful. The tiled subway station signs, the huge libraries and parks, all of the different sounds and accents ( I keep thinking that my “California accent” will be picked up by someone). Accents: Flavor. Whether it is one or the other, New York City is what she is, and she has no qualms about it.

I’ve discovered, in the past 6 months, that it is good for me to find new things for my life. Part of this realization has come in the form of stopping everything that I was doing. At first it was out of pain as I really didn’t eat much anymore, I totally stopped creating anything, and I had a hard time with the same daily things, daily people, and weekly meet ups. I still do, but it’s better than it was from before. I’ve stopped a lot of things, chosen to be with new people, made new friends (thankfully) and have begun (just recently) to re-examine the ways of the old country as I enter into a new land.

So, in short, new things are good for me. The free me from the burden of past attachment. They help me to see new things again as hopes. And, I hope they help to bring me back to a place of being able to work with and be with the old country: past things, people, friends. I hope that the new informs the past with perspective and hope. Without a new breath of life, it is too hard to understand and hold. It burns my hands as I hold it, but I still try to grip it real tight.

Slowly, I am beginning to design, shoot, and draw. I’ve printed a little, too, which has surprised even me. I hope these are signs of change and newness forming within me.

New memories. New hopes. New life.

Encounter NYC

Dear friends,

I wanted share with you about some new things in my life and ask that you join me in this journey. (sorry if it’s abit wandery and grammatically crazy… it’s late!)

From a young age, I have known that I have possessed a special gift. I was born to be creative, and to explore what it means to create as our Creator has created. Through my experiences in Sierra Leone, Atlanta, growing up with classes at the Richmond art center, in community colleges, and in the dark room of Castro Valley High School I have been shaped to build, break, open, and explore this sense of creating and growing as a person. In skill, and hope, I have grown through all of my experiences. As a child I wondered, as a youth I tried, as a teen I wasn’t given much, as a college student I explored, and as an adult I began to become serious about my true calling. I have grown so much in my understanding of myself, of beauty, truth, and my calling. I have struggled, cried, lamented, worked, failed and shined through this long process. My identity grows, breaks, brakes, refreshes, restarts and becomes more and defined.

I am an artist. There are the typical trappings of who I am, which people see as someone who is different, in appearance and perspective. A person who lives and sees life differently than others. Someone who is somewhat obsessive, judgmental, above the system, but full of longing. These things are true, but not all of who I am. I am also exactly who you are. Full of longing. Full of hope. Struck by despair. Able to love, but unable to know the full extent of that action. I have questions and more questions. I face them and they hurt. I let them go and they haunt me. Sometimes they are answered and I reflect such hope and joy from these acknowledgements of who I am meant to be. I am meant to create and to grow.

Creative growth is this sense, that I am growing in my own sense of what it means to be creative. I am growing in my skill, in my ability to craft, draft, draw, and design. All of the processes, from 1 point perspective to the third dimension are all things that I have labored over. I know the proportions of the human body and I have trained my mind and hand to follow the rules, but I still struggle to depict a rendition from what I see, to what I sense in my mind, to process the proportions, and to place that onto paper. I am constantly growing in my abilities to express these things with skill. Creative Growth is also this sense, that I am growing as a creative person in my sense of the world, of my spirit, and how it helps me to know, love, and respect other people. Part of my growth is seeing that other people grow in their vocation as creative, created people. I believe that we all have an innate sense of this creativity within us, an it is my calling to be part of this growth with and for other people. When I teach, this calling is fulfilled. When I shoot photographs with others, this calling becomes fulfilled. The teaching helps others grow, and in the end, it helps me to connect with this greater movement of knowing who are and how we are all connected.

Tomorrow, I will be heading to New York City with Steph, to attend a conference called Encounter, put on by the International Arts Movement. http://iamencounter.com/ It is a conference, for artists, to meet, learn and hopefully to become in touch with who they are. My hope is that I would find new questions and answers to my continuing journey as an artist. My life has been different since Kristin and I stopped dating. In this time of deep longing and emotional pain, I have struggled with myself. It has been hard, but it has been equally good. There have been radical shifts in many aspects of my life, and for that I am grateful. One is a return to faith. Through the pain of loss, I feel again and with that feeling has come a sense of God’s love for me. Deep. Caring. Hopeful. And with a renewed faith has come the ability to sing again. It has opened up a freedom that was so hard to figure out. I am grateful for the breakthrough of my heart. Another is the redemption of my creative and artistic longings. I had a deep moment where I believe the Holy Spirit revealed to me that I have already become what I have always longed to be. An artist, validated by my work, the process of exploration, and all of the different moments that I have been guided to this realization. I realized, at that moment, that I have nothing to prove. I have nothing to prove to myself, to others, or the art world. The process, I have realized has brought me to this place of realization, validation and hope. Please ask me about this moment and the ways that God has spoken to me, for I am grateful to testify of His goodness towards me.

The bigger picture and question, I feel, is: where do I go from here. There were moments, in my sincere pursuit to be great, that I began to become engulfed in the results, veering far from the goodness of the process. I have questions about how it looks from here, and I am hoping that this trip will be a time to reconnect with who I am, and that God would speck to me in a special way about my calling and how He wants to walk forward with me in it. So would you please pray for and with me, that God would speak to me through the different performances, speakers and moments with other people? Would you please ask me about the trip and spend time to dream about how we can all experience creative growth together.

Bless you.
Shine Bright.
Still, the light grows…

love,

-benjamin