Conversation with Nabi

I work next door to a guy named Navi. He's Muslim, and he mentioned today that Ramadan starts on August 11th. I'd heard of Ramadan, but didn't really know what it was about, so I asked him if they fasted during that time. He said that it was a 30 day fast, and that they were only allowed to eat after sunset, basically the same stuff that we eat during Lent... no meat, no dairy, no oil, no alcohol. We talked some more and I described how it sounded a lot like Lent, and then we both got excited and started talking more about it. He told me how Islam and Christianity weren't that much different, and that Islam was kind of an extension of Christianity. He said that although they don't believe that Jesus is actually the Son of God, they do believe that He will come back as He foretold. This was a surprise to me. He then described how there is an entire chapter devoted to Mary and Joseph in the Koran, which coincidentally, is the only part of the Koran that I've read. And this is what interested me... he said that in the Bible, that Jesus said that another prophet would appear, by the name of Ahmud, I think. Something like that, which sounded kind of like Mohommed. This I had never heard of, so I'm interested in finding out if this is actually the case. Then he started thumping a hatstand and said, "This we don't worship. Not totem poles, not wood, not idols. Why would you worship something with no life in it?" This brought up the subject of icons, and I explained how some people think that we as Orthodox Christians are worshiping graven images when we venerate them. By that time I had to get back to the store.

Rule of Prayer

I think the reason why I'm failing now is that my prayer rule is too hard. I've been skipping prayers a lot because I have 8 pages of morning prayers and 8 pages of evening prayers, and when I say them I skip around a lot, and then feel rottten for skipping some of the prayers. Then on most days, I just skip them completely because I know I won't be able to say them all, or I'm just not in the mood to stand and pray for 20 minutes.

I realized this morning that I'm not ready for 8 pages of prayers twice a day. I've heard from various sources, including Fr. Justin, that it's better to say a short prayer from the heart than to struggle with a long prayer that is rushed through for the sake of 'getting it finished'. So I'm revising my prayer rule thusly:

Morning Prayers
---------------
The Trisagion and The Lords Prayer, with the first "Having arisen from sleep..."
Prayer of the Optina Elders

Mid-day Prayers
---------------
The Lords Prayer

Evening Prayers
---------------
The Trisagion and The Lords Prayer, with the first "Now that the day has come to a close..."
A Prayer to The Holy Trinity
The Orthodox Symbol of Faith
Prayers for friends and family members

And throughout the day, The Jesus Prayer, when I remember it, or when I'm out walking. Even now I feel bad for picking and choosing, but I have to remember that I will not grow into the spiritual person I need to be without adhering to a rule of prayer. Later, when I'm ready, I'll be able to pray more.

When I do pray, I often break down and weep, and that's what I need. A sacrifice to God is a broken spirit; a broken and humbled heart God will not despise. I have a white cloth on my prayer table that I wipe my tears with. I don't know where the cloth came from.

Saving money

So now I have to stop buying cigarettes and beer, because things are getting desperate. Business isn't going as great as it did last month, which is how I had my finances figured. Things might still pick up in August and September but if they don't, I have to readjust what I'm spending and what I'm saving. And that means no more cigarettes, and no more beer. As it stands now, I'm spending 50 dollars a week on cigarettes, and 40 dollars on beer. That's almost a hundred dollars a week more that I can save, and I have to, simply HAVE to save that money.

So, I get to stop smoking and drinking! YAY! Thanks, God. No, seriously. Thank you God.

Now I just have to actually do it.

And to top it off, we just discovered that a $350.00 handbag is missing. Some schmuck mucked it.

Learning from the departed

I changed my layout with the NEW DESIGN! feature of blogspot, and now I can't change it back. !!!

Anyway.

So many conflicting emotions. So many chances to screw up. So many chances to do the right thing. I wonder sometimes if I'm special, if God gives me attention for some reason that I'm not aware of... because I am a royal screw up when it comes to my faults, like neglecting my prayer rule, feeling self important, indulging in self pity, giving up when things are just a little difficult, being weak, succumbing to pride, offending others, giving in to anger, embracing passions, following temptation, being a bad influence, manipulating people's emotions, and not being a good friend; just to name a few. Why do I get communication from God when I don't even deserve it at all? Why does He answer my prayers? Why does He show me such generous mercy? Why does He even give me the time of day?

I know why of course; God loves me and will not forsake or abandon me, ever - but I push Him away at every opportunity. What about all of the other people? People who died in car crashes, war, drug overdoses, suicide, or just out of sheer stupidity, like I almost did when I was almost scrubbed by that train 20 years ago? What about all of those people who did get scrubbed by the train? Didn't they deserve God's mercy as much as I do? Why do I get this chance when they didn't? Untold, countless millions of people, probably billions throughout the course of human history, who died without ever having any hope, who never knew God's love, and who now have to experience God's love as eternal pain instead of eternal joy. Why does God pay special attention to me? I have a chance, but I waste it every second of every day. Why do I get the chance? Why me?

I pray for the departed. Esther Moses (grandmother), Jim Moses (grandaddy), Alice Davis (grandma), Joseph Marion Davis (grandpa), Jason Melton (my friend from the message boards, who I actually knew as ICE) and Larry Walters. Those are the departed I include in my prayers, when I actually take the time to pray. I hope... hope hope hope that there is hope for the departed who were never as fortunate as myself, who died in anger or sadness or ignorance of God, who were so far away from God when they died. There has to be hope for them. Otherwise, why should I have hope? I don't deserve it. There HAS to be hope for the departed, the ones who never got the chance that I have been given.

After my grandmother died, I talked to Leah about it. I was concerned about what was happening to her. Leah told me that for the first three days after my grandmother died, she was simply in the presence of God. Just there, with God, for three days, being close to Him. I thought about the kind of life my grandmother led. She was a Roman Catholic and she kept a crucifix above her bed and a little container of holy water on the wall next to the door of her apartment, but I don't remember her ever going to mass. I know she wasn't perfect... she was selfish, manipulative, maybe even a little evil (I won't go into my reasons for saying that)... but she was my grandmother and there was love in her. How was she experiencing the presence of God for those three days? How is she experiencing it now? I worry about that.

I'm not ready to die now. My three days would probably be very frightening and painful - not to mention all of eternity. I'm afraid of what would happen to me if I died now. How would I experience God's love? What about grandmother? Grandaddy? Grandma and grandpa? My dear friend Ice? Or Larry Walters, the poor soul who tasted happiness once when he flew above Southern California in a lawn chair tied to 40 weather balloons, but ultimately killed himself out of sheer sadness? What about all of them, and all of the other people who have died before and since? Jesus told us that the path that leads to heaven is narrow, and only a few will succeed in finding their way. How many is 'only a few'?

Things that happened

So I'm walking tonight, as I'm wont to do, and I took the other way instead of the normal way. For about 30 minutes I walk, going over things in my head. What does God want me to do? How do I do what God wants me to do? How do I find peace? Why am I here? All the usual questions that I already know the answers to. I stumbled twice at poignant moments, which is one of God's methods of slapping me upside the head. I may be clueless now, but at least I know I'm clueless. It's an infinitely far removed state of awareness from just having no idea at all. Comforting, too.

I passed this area that was woody and brambly and thick with green... right next to the road, which was kind of odd. That's what caught my attention. And there was a dark place where the brambles kind of separated, like a tunnel leading into the wilderness. How could I resist? I went into the tree tunnel, which was only about 4 feet high, so I had to stoop, which made me feel tall. So, I get inside the woody brambles, and the noise shuts down... no noise from the road or the city or the wind or anything. There was a path too, so I followed it. A path for midgets or leprechauns, I guess, because the roof of the bramble tunnel never rose higher than 4 feet. I followed this for about a hundred yards as it twisted and turned, and eventually realized I was in bum f'd Egypt. There was a little stream running right there too. It was surreal. There I was, in the wilderness, with green and branches and leaves and all kinds of wild plants everywhere, but at the same time, there was a dirt path leading through to this creek... but the path was not human sized. I wondered about this for a long time. I finally chalked it up to God giving me a little gift. It was quiet and green and dark and damp and earthy, with only the sound of a stream running by.

I followed the path back out and finally re-emerged and resumed my walk down the road. Eventually I noticed a guy in front of me who I was approaching, because he was taking his sweet time. He turned around once and looked at me, and my first reaction was to think, "Whatchoo lookin at?" I immediately chastised myself for that, and replaced the thought with "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I'm your friend." A couple of minutes later, he turned around again and stayed turned around. He stopped and waited for me to catch up. We started walking together and talking. It was easy. He was a nice guy, named Rod, in Ketchikan for just a couple of days. We talked about ourselves, where we're from, what we're doing, this, that, the other. It was really nice. God once again shows me something, tries to teach me something. It happens all the time! Thank you God.

We parted ways when I reached my apartment. As I was crossing the street, a car was turning right there, so I high tailed it at top speed. As I got to the other side of the street, the car passed by and I heard "You're a fag." Well, I just seen red. I turned around and UP went the arm, and UP went the middle finger, and SCOWL went the face. It was a reflex reaction, almost like I had no control over it. I saw the car and it's occupants. Two really cute chicks, looking at me as I gave them the most hostile bird ever contrived, laughing their asses off.

I am...

I am no longer 39. I am 29. I was born on March 25th 1981. Please observe that all official documents now reflect this. I'll probably die when I'm 100, making me 90. Just a heads up to the world.

Problems

I realized today that I've been trying to deal with a lot of my problems alone, by myself, in private. I'm afraid to let people help me though, but that's part of what the church is for... so that we can have the support of other people. I'm a very private person though, and the idea of revealing my problems to other people fills me with anxiety and shame. That might be wrong though, to keep my problems hidden inside because I continually fail at dealing with them by myself.

I have realized one thing though which will help. I haven't tried to share my problems with God. I learned yesterday that I can only deal with the aspects of my problems that are actually under my control, and that it's ok to hand the rest over to God for Him to deal with. Through God anything is possible, and through myself nothing is possible. I think the way to do that is with prayer. That might seem obvious, but sometimes we can't see what is directly in front of us and staring us in the face.

I haven't really prayed sincerely for help with my problems... I'm always praying for somebody else. I think it's time I started praying for myself a little bit.

Today at the post office

I was at the post office today and I had a book with me that Ann Miruski had given me called 'The Christian Atheist'. After I was finished with my business there, I left to go find a mailbox (yeah I know, I was just at the post office...) in which to drop the letter. I found the box, mailed the letter, and headed back to the store. It took me about 20 minutes to realize I'd left my book at the post office, and I busted out of the store at top speed, which in these boots kind of hurts.

When I got to the post office, a lady was thumbing through the book. I approached, out of breath, and said, "Hey... that's my... book... I left it... here... about 20... minutes ago." The lady continued to thumb through the book without looking up. I didn't want to be rude, but I really wanted that book back. I was almost finished with it. Maybe she just hadn't heard me.

"Yeah... that's my book," I said, my breath returning to me. "I left it here."

"Oh, yes, I was just looking at it. Very interesting. Where did you get it?"

I explained how Ann had given it to me. She thumbed through it some more, nodded her head in approval, then handed the book to me with a big smile. At this point I felt a little guilty at immediately just wanting the book back. A lot of the time I misjudge people's motives because of my inherent selfishness and tendency to jump to conclusions. At this point we began to talk a little bit about the title of the book and what it meant, and then she opened it to a couple of specific parts which she thought were interesting. She must have found that book immediately after I left, because she had apparently read a good bit of it. She was genuinely interested in it, and I'm almost finished with it, so I offered to give it to her.

"Oh no, don't do that. No, you keep it. This way, you can go back and re-read the important parts. Here, do this..." she opened the book to a page we had just been talking about. "Like this part here. Take a pencil and underline it and put the date next to it. But do that to the parts that you find important. Go back in the book and find the parts that made an impact on you and underline them and put the date next to the passage. Then later you can reflect on those parts when they become relevant to you. You'll have the date and it will help you to remember why you thought it was important then, and it will help you figure out why it's important to you at that particular time in the future."

I thanked her and we talked a little more. I told her how I was a recent convert to Eastern Orthodox Christianity, and she described how she had turned to God 14 years ago when she had hit rock bottom, drunk and homeless. By this time we had migrated outside, and as she turned to go, she said "Keep that book, keep God in your heart, and don't ever forget that it's His grace that makes everything possible. Good luck!" And with that, plus a big smile, she turned and walked away.

4th of July Adventure

On the 4th of July, after work, I set out on a long walk at about 7:30. I made a video of the first part, which you can watch here if you're just itching to see the retard behind the words.

http://www.youtube.com/user/kaxtorplose#p/a/u/0/-6cZ4PV1vOk

If you decide not to inflict the video upon yourself, here's a short synopsis. Pretty much immediately into my walk I started to find things. This is a usual thing for me when I walk; I find things on the road. I'm easily amused, so when I find the top part of a gas burner shaped like a radiation hazard symbol, I get a huge kick out of it. Even more exciting than that is finding a dirty knit hat stuffed full of candy. And even more exciting than THAT is following a TRAIL of candy for 2 miles! Of course all of this wild candy was the result of the parade that passed that way earlier in the day, but at the time I thought I was following the desperate clues that would lead me to a wicked witch up in the hills, intent on cooking a couple of innocent kids who had cleverly left this trail for me to follow. I was pretty disappointed when I figured out that this wasn't the case.

So, I continue my sojourn after the video ends and wind up on the docks. All the ships had already left, but I saw a crowd gathered on the last dock.



Some kind of Martian 4th of July celebration. I briefly wondered about the native folk here, and why they would celebrate the 4th of July when they were here long before the white man came and installed a capitalist economy. I guess they're ok with it, because there were a bunch of tribe-like folk on a stage, singing primitive chants and beating on primitive drums.



Even the mayor of Mars... I mean, Ketchikan (I keep thinking this is Mars. I guess it's because that's where I'd rather be) took the microphone and started talking. I didn't really listen to this, and when the Mayor said, after a rousing round of applause, "Wait, I'm not done yet..." that's when I walked away. But not before snapping this picture, which was just too funny not to digitally memorialize for all eternity:



Anyway... enough of the political rally. I wanted action... and action I soon found. As I was rounding a corner, I heard shouts in the distance... a gruff inarticulate shout, answered by a cacophony of distinctly less gruff inarticulate shouts. As it turned out, without describing all the descriptive coming up upon the scene stuff, it was a group of young progressive natives trading shouts with one of the elder statesmen. It was youth against the establishment! Action! Or so I thought at the time... actually, upon closer inspection, it was just an old really drunk guy and a bunch of dime store hoods playing at being heavy metal, shouting 'F YEAH, ROCK AND ROLL' while waving the hook em horns hand gesture at each other. As I approached the old man, he took an immediate interest in me.

"F'ing kids," he said to me as we began to walk together. It was at this time that I noticed just how drunk the guy was. He couldn't walk in a straight line to save his life, and a younger woman was trying to guide him through the parking lot which we were navigating. There weren't that many cars, but the old man was doing a pretty good job of nearly bumping into most of them.

"F'ing kids. F'ing kids!" he said, over and over, looking at me as if to elicit some kind of agreement.

"Kids will be kids. We were all kids once," I replied.

The old man took a long look at me, as if sizing me up. I guess he was trying to decide whether or not I was an f'ing kid. After a few seconds I guess he judged me to be alright, because he said, "Hey, it's good to see somebody with long hair. On a guy, you know. Really good. You wanna go smoke some pot?" All of this came out slurred and slobbery.

"Nah, I haven't smoked pot since I was... well for about 20 years."

"Really? You look like you do. With the long hair and all."

I get this a lot, of course. People see me and immediately categorize me as a dope smoker because of the way I dress and my long hair. I'm used to it and it doesn't bother me.

"Nah, I don't smoke pot."

"Really. That's amazing..." the old man stumbled along for another few steps, accompanied by his daughter, who was struggling to keep him upright. Every now and then she would give me a kind of pleading look mixed with resignation, and say "Come on, pop."

"So, you wanna come smoke some pot?" the old man said to me again.

"Come on, pop. Get you home," said the daughter. They took a turn down some stairs, and after watching to make sure they were safely ensconced in the house, I found myself walking alone again. After doing several circuits of the 'New Town' area... that is, the tourist district, I passed by a window which was level with the sidewalk. I saw that a note was taped to the window, so I stopped to get a closer look. I knelt down, read the note, and my heart almost broke all over again:



How many broken hearts are there on the planet right now? How many people with unrequited love? How many people feeling remorse over things they've said or done to someone they love? How many regretful people? How many lonely people?

After that, my walk was pretty much over, so I headed home... but I snapped this picture of a flag to commemorate the day. It was the 4th of July, after all.

The Orthodox Store

What can I say about today? I made a promise to God and broke it, went to work, didn't visit the Episcopal church, and closed the store early. It's the 4th of July, after all. There was a parade but I missed it because I was holed up in the top floor store where nothing happens. That's ok though, because I prefer it up there. I'm a good enough salesman that if a serious customer comes in, I can help them and sell them something and make them happy. Have I ever mentioned how happy it makes me when a customer is happy? I love seeing a happy customer when they buy something they really love. That may sound odd, because I hate this job, I'm not a salesman, and I don't really like talking to people. But it's the excited, friendly person who finally gets that coat or scarf or whatever that is going to put the icing on their vacation, who is just so happy with it, that makes me happy.

I got a customer like that today. He was tall and thin, and was just taken with the Russian trooper shearling hat. It cost $79.00, and he was worried about making an impulse buy. He tried it on, folded the ear flaps down, put them up, folded them down, talked about how much he loved it, put it back, picked it back up, repeat a few times. He walked off just as his wife was coming up the stairs. He told her how much he loved the hat, and she said, "Well, just buy it honey, you love it, right?" So, he came back and bought it. He wore it out of the store with the ear flaps down.

I felt better after that. At about 1:00, Curtis closed his store because it was a holiday, so I went ahead and closed mine. I went down to the store where Ed and Scott were working and they were grilling hot dogs and drinking beer. I had a hot dog, drank a beer, and took a walk down to the Russian store. The Russian girl who works there is really cute and friendly, and she recognized me when I walked in.

"So, you're back for more Orthodox stuff?"

"Yeah. Actually, I want you to translate something for me."

She speaks Russian and translates the backs of the icons for me when I'm in there browsing. I removed my baptismal cross and handed it to her.

"Could you translate the back of that for me?"

She took the cross and examined the back, her brows furrowed.

I said, "I think it might be Greek... or is it Cyrillic?" What the hell do I know anyway?

"No, it's Cyrillic, but very old and ancient writing. I can only understand one part... it says 'Gotha'."

At this point another employee walked up to see what was going on.

"Gothat? Did you say Gotha?"

"Yeah, Gotha. I don't know what the rest of it says."

"Gotha, like... gothic?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"That's creepy! Man, that's creepy!" She looked at me, back at my cross, and then back at me. "That's creepy, man!" Then she walked off.

I was a little miffed. She called my baptismal cross creepy!

"It's not creepy, it's my baptismal cross," I said to the girl who was translating. I don't know her name.

"I know. Maybe your priest can translate it." She knows my priest speaks Russian, I told her when I was in the store before.

I browsed around some more and bought a really pretty Theotokos icon. Then I walked home and prayed for about an hour. I had a lot of praying to make up for, but it still wasn't enough.

So here I am, at 4:52, about to eat supper and watching 'Taken' on TV. Ed and Scott are barbecuing at the lake. I didn't go because I wanted prayer time alone.

Oh and by the way... 5:42. I had just crumpled up the receipt for my new icon and it was halfway into the trash when I stopped. Why would I stop in the middle of throwing away a receipt? I don't know, but something compelled me to. So, I uncrumpled it and looked at it. Blah blah blah... Maria. The name of the person who was logged in on the register. That's the girls name, Maria. The Russian girl who works at the Russian store. Her name is Maria. Huh.

And exactly one hour later too. Is God talking to me here? He usually talks to me with coincidences.

Pinback and Larry Walters

I just have to write a little about Pinback because they are so phenomenally great in ways that are not possible to put into words, but I'm going to try anyway. Every now and then a band will come along, or more accurately; I'll discover a band that will just totally blow me away. They'll kill my soul, resurrect it, make my reason for living change from second to second, depending on what chord is playing, carving new and permanent pathways into my synapses. I think the inside of my brain even hemmorhages a little bit when I'm emotionally overcome by a band like Pinback, and my thoughts will bleed tears.

There is a song called Walters which especially tends to make me cry when I listen to it, if I'm in exactly the right mood, the perfect blend of melancholy and joy. It's about a guy named Larry Walters who yearned to fly but wasn't allowed into pilot training in the Air Force because of his eyesight. Back in the early 80's, he bought about 50 weather balloons, tied them to a lawn chair, filled the balloons with helium and shot up into the sky. He floated over southern California for a couple of hours and was so amazed by the view that he forgot to take pictures.

In 1990 he went out on a hike and never came back. He shot himself through the heart at his favorite place on his hiking trail. I can only imagine the kind of pain it would take to drive one to do that. I've thought about it a lot, but never seriously considered it. I guess I haven't experienced that level of pain and hopelessness. I grieve for Larry Walters... poor guy, poor soul, poor man, poor sad sad man. I cry sometimes just thinking about him and this song. God have mercy on him please.

The perpetual never-ending offer

Today it's my day off and it's raining. We were supposed to have a 4th of July party with the other furriers, but we decided that a barbecue in the rain probably wouldn't be much fun, so we all said F it. Besides, I'm a little hung over. Scott and I had a male bonding session last night and once again I was invited to come out with him and 'get laid'. He's got these two go-to girls, and he's constantly trying to hook me up with one of them. The 'rebound girl' thing used to work for me back when I was somebody else, but agreeing to this now would almost certainly be a bad idea... but then again, what if this, as unlikely as it seems to me, is God's will? What if this girl is somebody I should meet? What if she's the girl I'm going to marry, and I'll never know because I never actually take Scott up on his offer?

Scott says that I need to just go out and meet some girls. There is a really cute girl who works at the gas station across the street. Her name is Carly, which is stitched onto her work shirt. They actually get shirts with their names stitched onto them over there. Anyway, she always smiles real big and talks to me when I go in to buy smokes. Maybe she likes me, or thinks I'm cute, or is attracted to me. Hell I dunno, but she might be receptive if I asked her out.

Then again, I probably won't ever ask anybody out. I'm too shy, and I don't want just 'get laid' or to have a temporary girlfriend while I'm in Alaska. I want to get married and have kids. But then again, maybe I'll meet someone here and wind up staying. I guess I'll never know unless I try. I don't expect God to do everything if it's His will that I should have a wife and kids... I guess I'll probably have to do some of the leg work.

Wow, I'm really confused today. I think it's just because I'm hung over, and because Scott is constantly tempting me to go out and meet this girl. Anyway, I'm not drinking anymore of the hard liquor while I'm here. I'm sticking with beer from now on.

Vigil at Catholic Church

As 7:00 grew nearer, I grew more and more nervous. Holy Name Catholic Church is only about a quarter of a mile from my apartment, but I left at 6:30 and found myself pacing around in the parking lot for a quarter of an hour until I built up the nerve to go in. I wanted someone with me and I felt terribly alone and foreign as I was about to enter this strange church, which looked so bare and austere and modern. I still had 10 minutes, so I sat in the lobby while people milled around and talked. At 7:00 I went into the sanctuary, which was filled with pews. What did I expect? I guess I was kind of hoping it would be just a great big empty floor. I looked around and was struck by the almost severe lack of... things. The atmosphere was extremely different, what with every light in the place blazing at full wattage and with just three candles lit on the altar. There were no icons at all, and the walls were bare, except for the stations of the cross. Behind the altar was a large crucifix with tall banners hanging to each side with Alleluia printed on each one. The ceiling was low, wide, and vaulted, and there was a PA system at the far left of the altar. There were these things at the backs of the pews that folded down, and I saw that various people had pulled them down and were kneeling and praying. I looked behind me and saw people entering the sanctuary, dipping their hands in holy water, and crossing themselves the 'wrong way' with an open hand. I turned forward, crossed myself, and then I sat down and took off my prayer bracelet that Leah gave me and began saying the Jesus Prayer, knot by knot.

Finally the priest entered, walked up to the altar, and welcomed everybody. The he sat down and a lady walked up to a microphone and directed everyone to open a hymnal to a certain page, and everybody sang a hymn. There was no official choir; just the congregation singing hymns, led by this lady. I don't know what her official position was, if she even had one. After that, a different lady led the congregation in prayer, and then everybody stood there quietly. Then she read from the Gospels and then directed the congregation to sing another hymn. After that, everybody sat down.

By this time, about 20 minutes had passed and I was ready to get up and leave. I was feeling very uncomfortable, and I was hot and sweaty. I felt terribly alone as I sat there saying the Jesus Prayer at top speed. I looked around now and then and saw people looking at me, and I wondered if they had seen me crossing myself the 'wrong way', or the blur of the spinning prayer bracelet in my hands as I mouthed this strange chant over and over.

At this time the priest approached the podium and read some more from the Gospels. After that, he said a short sermon, and then everyone began to prepare for the Eucharist by singing a preparation hymn. This Catholic vigil was nothing like the vigils I was used to. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the Jesus Prayer. After a while I heard the congregation saying a creed very similar to the Nicene Creed, and I opened my eyes and looked around. I almost wanted to join in, but then they got to the filioque, and I was surprised that I recognized it as a glaring difference. "The Holy Spirit, which proceedeth from the Father and the Son". This was a part of the great schism, and here I was in the midst of it. I closed my eyes again and missed St. Maximus more than ever.

After a few moments, I opened my eyes to the sound of the altar boys who were kneeling before pillows and ringing bells as the priest prepared the Eucharist. My interest was piqued, as I was at least somewhat familiar with this, having seen the movie Doubt, which included this particular ritual of the Catholic Church. My nervousness decreased a little and I started to pay attention. The priest blessed the little round wafers, then poured a purplish brown liquid into a chalice and blessed that, all interspersed with the ringing of these bells by the altar boys. Finally, four people approached the altar and took communion first. I don't know why these four were first, but after this, everybody got up and formed two lines, approached the altar, and partook of the Catholic Eucharist. I watched this with interest until it was finished, and then the priest led everyone in something that was somewhat similar to the Great Litany, except it wasn't sung, and instead of 'Lord have mercy', the congregation said... something... shoot, I forgot. But it was the closest thing to a part of an Orthodox service that I had yet encountered in this strange church, apart from the altered creed.

After that, everyone prayed silently again for a while, and then the priest led everyone in the Lords Prayer. I said this with everyone, and when we got to the end, I habitually said "and deliver us from the evil one. For thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory, of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy spirit, both now and ever and unto ages of ages, Amen." I had forgotten that this part was different, and there I was, whispering this last part while everybody else was silent. It sounded like a shout to me, but it came out of my mouth as an ingrained, permanent habit, and once again I felt isolated and alone. I closed my eyes and went back to the Jesus Prayer as one of the ladies led the congregation in another hymn.

After a while I realized that the service was over. I opened my eyes and people were walking out, so I stood there and said the Trisagion as people passed by because I didn't know what else to do. When I was finished, I stood there for a moment, hoping that nobody would walk up to me and greet me like they do in protestant churches. After several seconds, I realized that I was being safely ignored, so I walked into the lobby and waited in line as the priest greeted everyone as they left. When I got to the priest, he looked at me and said "Thank you." I nodded and smiled, and left. The whole thing had taken exactly one hour.

It was an odd, isolating, fearful experience, but after an hour of saying the Jesus Prayer practically non-stop, I was surprised at how good I felt. As I walked home, I really did feel relieved, and good, and almost happy. I had decided halfway through the vigil that I wasn't going to go back to this particular Catholic church, but saying the Jesus Prayer for an hour really had done me some good. I need to go back to this church. It's a good thing that I felt so isolated, and alone, and fearful, because I involved myself in prayer at a level that I hadn't experienced since I left Texas. I look forward to bringing prayer back into my life.

Old Man Steve

I took a long walk today when it was dead at the store. I decided to climb up a tall hill which I had been avoiding, well, because it's a tall hill. I found that if I walked very slowly up that tall hill, I hardly expended any energy at all! The trick is to take about two seconds between each step, and it's almost like walking very slowly up a tall hill. Amazing.

Anyway, I got up to the top of the hill and saw the biggest effing black bird I've ever seen. It was about a hundred feet away and perched on a bridge that spanned a wide, deep woodsy hole. It was munching on some green... no, orange things scattered all over the bridge. As I got closer, the bird began to scream. AAAARRCK! AAAACGHK! Other birds replied from the roofs of nearby houses. As I approached, the air was filled with the cries of defiant, pissed off, huge black birds. I got closer to the bird on the bridge, which I think must have been a raven or just a giant mutant crow, and saw that it's huge beak was stuffed with Cheetos. It stood it's ground bravely until I was about ten feet away, and with a final RAAAGGHRRK! it flew away to join it's brethren on the roof of the house on the other side of the woodsy hole. They all immediately began to wrastle with the one bird with the Cheetos.

I kept going and finally reached the top of the hill, only to find that it was a dead end. I won't lie - I was sorely disappointed. I had just humped it up a giant mountain, braved a hoard of pterodactyls, and waded through rivers of Cheetos, only to find that there was no more road. If I could have thrown something, I would have. I had my phone in my hand. I thought about throwing it, but I just spit over the edge of the cliff instead. I turned around and kicked my way through the Cheetos, scattering the mutant birds, summarily putting them in their places. I'm the human, after all. They're just dumb birds. Get outa my way, inferior animals. I'm pissed.

I was almost to the bottom of the hill when I discovered a little stairway that I hadn't noticed on my way up. It curved down in a little half spiral to a road which led away and disappeared around a curve which was obscured by all kinds of woodsy things. As I stood at the top of the stairs, I saw a woman sitting on a bench in front of a local shop. She was a rather large woman, and as she sat there, her head was down and she was kicking her heel on the concrete sidewalk over and over. Kind of just bouncing her heel, up and down, up and down. I stood there and watched her do this for about two minutes, and she never stopped. She just sat there, looking down, kicking her heel on the concrete as if it was made out of rubber. I wondered about that lady. Was she sad? Was she waiting on someone? Was she just lost in thought? What was her life like? She was pretty fat. I found myself feeling sorry for her. She never looked up... she just sat there and sat there, bouncing her heel on the sidewalk.

I walked down the stairs and wandered along the road aimlessly for a while, until I came upon a boardwalk which diverged from the road and promptly disappeared into more woodsy stuff. There was a sign posted there which read "Married Man's Trail". This gave me pause for a few seconds... was I allowed on this trail? I'm not married, after all. There was a grizzled old man with a short white beard standing right there at the entrance, and I wondered if he was the one who guarded the trail against the unlawful entry of single men. I decided to risk it anyway. I approached the trail, and before I could step foot on it, the grizzled guy stopped me. This was it, I was about to be denied entry and cast back upon the road... maybe even punished according to some strange local custom.

"Hey!" said the old grizzled guy.

I said "Hi."

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Oh, pretty good." I replied.

"Why are you so dressed up?" I looked down and briefly examined myself. I was wearing my suit coat, my white button down shirt, slacks, and dress shoes for work. I thought about telling the guy that I had just been married earlier today, but I had a feeling that this old man was no fool.

"I work down in the tourist district. It's pretty slow right now, so I'm just taking a walk."

"So, where ya from? I know you ain't from here by the way you talk."

I told him I was from Texas in the thickest southern drawl I could manage, hoping to charm him into letting me walk down the trail. For some inexplicable reason, I felt an intense need to walk the Married Man's Trail. Maybe it's because I want to be married... anyway, I had barely gotten warmed up and was ready to throw a couple of 'fixin to' and 'yalls' at him when, to my surprise, the grizzled old guy started walking down the Married Man's Trail. I followed him tentatively, hoping that maybe I could slip by him.

"Hey, that's real jade there, you know!" The old grizzled man was talking to someone who was perusing what apparently were his wares. It was then that I noticed that there was a little shop front along the trail, with all kinds of carved jade pieces on display. The guy looking at the jade scurried off and the old grizzled man turned back to me. I quickly began examining the jade with interest while he stood there looking at me. I tried to think of something to say before he realized that he hadn't checked me for a wedding ring.

"So, do you carve all of this?" I said, just to be saying something.

"Nah," he replied. "I order it from this guy who something or another over here and there and whatnot." That's what I got out of what he said, anyway.

"So, how much is this one?" I indicated a jade cross. I always ask 'how much for the cross' when I'm forced to interact with a proprietor when browsing the local shops here.

"Oh, they come in all sizes. That'n there is a medium. It's sumpin or another dollars." I don't remember how much he said. He then disappeared around the corner of the little shop and into an open doorway.

"I gotta take care of these folks here, come on in." He motioned me inside hurriedly and disappeared again. I went around the corner and through the door and found that I was actually in the guy's house, and that the front room had been converted into a kind of mini-grocery store, with canned goods and chips and sodas set up on shelves and in small coolers. He had just taken some money from a young couple and was talking to the guy.

"Hell, in my time it was the guy who paid! What's this shit? The guy's supposed to pay. Why are you making the woman pay? Sheesh!" The couple hurried out. I couldn't tell if he was joking, or if the couple thought he was joking, or if he was serious, or what. The grizzled old man turned to me. "Can you believe that shit? He made the girl pay for that!" He shook his head and stood there for a few seconds, then looked up suddenly and high tailed it into the next room. "Shit, I'm burning it! She's gonna be pissed!" By she, I assumed he was talking about his wife. His house was built right on top of the entrance to the Married Man's Trail, after all. The smells of something cooking wafted into the room from the kitchen. He hurried in and I followed him.

"You ever make homemade tortillas?" the old grizzled man asked.

"No," I replied. "But my mom's side of the family is Mexican, and my aunts make tortillas and tamales and stuff from scratch."

"Yeah, I love to cook. I got some bread in the oven now." He opened the oven and I saw about 6 small loaves of bread in there, all brown and almost done, and smelling damn good.

"My name's Steve, by the way." He stretched out one hand to me, the other grasping a frying pan, in which he had just deposited a homemade tortilla. I took his hand and shook it.

"My name's... Elias." I had almost said Ash.

"Good to meetcha. So, what are you doing here in Alaska? Working down in the tourist district? Doing what?"

I guess it was obvious that I was probably working the tourist district, what with the way I was dressed and the fact that I have, to people up north anyway, a think southern drawl. I told him that I worked for Dicker and Dicker, and before I could get any further, he said "Oh, selling furs, huh? You know Navi? And Nadim?"

Navi and Nadim work in the fur store right next to us. I was somewhat surprised that he immediately knew all of that right off the bat. I told him that yes, I sold furs, and yes, I did know Navi and Nadim. Steve then asked how I was liking it in Alaska.

"I like it pretty much, actually," I said. "In fact, I'm thinking about staying."

"Oh yeah?" he said without looking up, now intent on chopping mushrooms, onions, and bell peppers. "What for? You gotta find a job up here if you're gonna stay past summer, and the work ethic sucks. People here are lazy. Listen to this shit." He then proceeded to tell me about how he had first moved here 30 years ago and started work as a dishwasher at a local restaurant, and how within six weeks he had been the head cook because all of the employees were drunk and high every day. Thus he eventually wound up owning the place, and all because nobody in Alaska had any damn worth ethic. Why this was such a problem for him, since he had apparently benefited greatly from it, was beyond me.

"So, why do you wanna stay here again?" He hadn't forgotten his original question. Apparently he just needed to warn me about the work ethic... or maybe he was warning ME about the worth ethic. As in, boy, if you decide to move into my town, you better have a good worth ethic because I got my eye on you.

"Well..." I didn't know if I should mention anything about being Orthodox, and that I might be interested in attending seminary at Kodiak Island, as I'm not even sure about that myself. Plus, people can be touchy about religion. I've already had one customer walk right out the door when I mentioned my recent baptism in casual conversation while I was schmoozing them into buying something. But then again, maybe if I told him about my religion he would assume that I had a good worth ethic, and I wouldn't have to face suffering his wrath in the future. It was a calculated risk.

"I don't know. I really like it here, and I was thinking... well, maybe about going to seminary out on Kodiak Island."

"Seminary?" He replied, looking up from his chopping to meet my eye. "You Eastern Orthodox?"

I was somewhat surprised, but I guess I shouldn't have been. After all, Alaska is a stronghold of Orthodoxy. "Yeah. For about a month now. Well, actually, for about a year and a half... but I was just baptized last month."

"Oh really? How did you come about it?"

"Well, first I met this girl..."

"Ooooh boy," he said, shaking his head. "Let me guess. She brought you into the church, right?"

"Uh... yeah," I replied.

"She your girlfriend?" Before I could reply, he said "She left you, right?"

"Uh... yeah," I replied, again.

Dear reader, I shit you not. This was the conversation.

He stopped his chopping and put the knife down. "I knew it. God damn women, they stick it to you every time. You know they do. They do, don't they? God damn. Women." He shook his head and poured some eggs into a frying pan, getting an omelette ready.

Wow. This man was not only extremely perceptive, but he was damn amusing as well. I found myself really enjoying his company. "Well," I said, feeling some need now to defend my situation, or at least explain it, "yeah, she left me, but if it hadn't been for her, I never would have found the church. So it was worth it, I think."

"Well, I'm Jewish," he said. "And Navi and Nadim are both Muslims. It takes all types, you know," he said wisely. He finished the omelette and yelled out the door. "Hon, it's ready!" A lady walked into the house and went through the kitchen and sat at a table there. I'm assuming it was his wife, as I've already explained. Steve finished up the omelette and deposited it onto the homemade tortilla.

"You want some of this?" he asked, nodding towards the tortilla and omelette.

That this guy, this grizzled old man, purveyor of local wisdom and genuinely friendly, had actually invited me, a complete stranger, into his house and then offered me some of the food that he had been cooking as we talked, touched me deeply. I wanted to say "Yeah, I'd love some," but my inherent shyness stopped me. I tried to think of an excuse not to accept his offer. I looked at the clock on my phone. Well, I'd been gone for almost an hour. The food smelled really good, and I was kind of hungry, and there the grizzled old guy stood, offering... but...

"Nah. I'd better be going. I've been gone for a while now and should probably be getting back." I kicked myself mentally.

"Ok, well..." he put down a block of cheese he had been grating and looked for a place to wipe his hand. He finally settled on his pants, and after a good wipe, he held out his hand and I shook it.

"Ok. I'm gonna go now. It was nice meeting you, Steve. This was definitely interesting, and now I've got something to write about in my journal."

Steve laughed and took the cheese into the other room and poured it onto the omelette on the table for... his wife, I was assuming. "Ok. See you around."

I left and as I headed back to the store, I thought about everything that had just happened and how I would write about it. I had forgotten all about taking the Married Man's Trail. I took the road back. I was still in a kind of state of amazement when I heard a voice behind me say, "I love your long hair."

I turned around and saw a pretty local woman, an Inuit I guess, walking briskly to catch up with me. "Thanks... uh... thanks." I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"There's not enough men with long hair nowadays. Don't cut it!" She smiled at me and waved as she walked past. I wish I could have thought of something else to say, but I was feeling good anyway, so I just smiled, waved back, and pulled my book out and started to read as I walked.

As I was approaching the store, another pretty lady was riding towards me on a bicycle. As she approached, she smiled and slowed down and said, "Are you almost finished?"

What, ho? Two pretty women talking to me on the same day? For no apparent reason? Can my ego take it? "Uhhh..." I didn't know what she was talking about at first, then I glanced down at my book. Oh! "I'm about half way through it."

"Ok. Well, bye!" She waved and smiled and rode away.

Wow. What an interesting walk that had turned out to be.

Smothered in dark

I was making mole tonight. Not mole, as in the animal that burrows underground and eats dirt. No, I wasn't making mole to eat, I was making mole. That's MO-LAY. That's how it's pronounced. It's some kind of sauce, a dark brown sauce, Mexican sauce. Lots of peppers and nuts and stuff and it's all ground up. I personally like to add a lot of chocolate syrup to it, it makes it mo bettah. A former girlfriend of mine introduced me to it. She was Mexican Catholic, and I hated mole at first... but it grows on you. Truly it does (Scott and Ed didn't like it, by the way).

So, I was making MO-LAY tonight. But first, in order to make MO-LAY, you have to cook chicken. So first, I cooked the chicken. I had bought chicken breasts from Safeway (yes, there are grocery stores here on Mars) and boiled them. I normally wouldn't boil chicken breasts, because usually I buy a whole chicken and tear it apart and boil all the component pieces. But holy cow, it was cheaper to buy a bundle of chicken breasts that weighed more and cost less than a whole chicken. And it's all white meat, not bones and giblets (those are chicken guts) before you get to the meat. So, the chicken breasts, which are all white meat, cost less than the whole chicken with all the other stuff. And I boiled it, and cut it up, poured the MO-LAY sauce all over it, then wrapped it up in tortillas and ate it like a burrito.

So anyway, the point of this little tirade isn't to explain all about my own personal history with MO-LAY and how to make it and how they have great chicken deals here at the north pole, but it was to describe one particular moment in the making of the MO-LAY.

That moment occurred when I put the cut up pieces of white meat chicken into the dark brown sauce, which was simmering on the stove. I had cut up each piece of chicken breast into little cubes on a cutting board. They were an almost pristine white, compared to the dark sauce. I stood there with the little miraculous pieces of white chicken, about to dump them into the dirty brown MO-LAY sauce, and I didn't even hesitate. I dumped them in there.

So, as I was stirring it all up, some pieces of white chicken didn't want to get dirty. I stirred some more, and more of the dark brown dirty got on the pristine white. Then I had a kind of epiphany. I saw a couple of pieces of white, which hadn't been touched by the sauce at all. They didn't want to get touched. But I pushed them around until all the white, which had never ever ever been touched by the dark before, got all smothered. I realized at that moment, that's how I feel. Not that I was ever pristine, except when I was born, but that I'm getting smothered in dark.