subculture motivation

I remember the time when i was still a young songwriter sitting in a gathering of music giants, bewildered with the leadership's decision to disband the production and everything we were doing - all the gigs, outreaches, etc. The reason: we were creating our own club, our own christian subculture. And it had to go.

Where are all the christian bands going to play now? The few of us wondered at that time.

As it was, independent music in my country then was deeply an underground phenomena. Bands found few venues who would allow them to play original music to an audience who much preferred the good old filipino bon jovi cover bands. How much more christian bands in an asian setting, trying to emulate the american contemporary christian music scene of the 1990s?

A few of us created part two of the beginning and tried to fill a niche void to give a platform in the name of art and religion. how wise now, it seems, the original leaders were, given the context of our present day fragmented christian subculture.

i was sitting with my brother on the couch, reading to him the latest follow up statement I found online. I could see he was sad and felt for the man. Yet at the same time, he felt sick with the kind of culture we've created that a man like this should fall with such catastrophic media attention.

To borrow from the wisdom of another from the recent sunday, when a man's gift is amplified on a pedestal, his weakness gets amplified as well. Suddenly, he has to be the example. Suddenly he has to stand for all the right things we should all stand for and when he falls, damn, it hurts. And it hurts like a bitch.

How did we elevate a man that he cannot be human after all? Right now, there are probably men masturbating to porn in my building. Right now, there is probably an adulterous affair about to happen. Right now, someone just lost control and pregnated his girlfriend of 2 weeks. Right now, a minister is about to kill himself because he feels like he is a failure...

Someone once said during one of our 'brainstorm' community meetings that we should pray for God to shut down all the Club X/Porn Lounges. Well, you know what, I am glad we are a country with porn lounges. Yes, it exploits women, and men, but I'd rather be living with an open palm and engage with the messiness of my humanity than do my part and shut down, shut out, flat out live in denial. Just because mum and dad and the world and their friends expects it.

Where is the beauty of our God given choice, if all we're doing is living by the faith of someone else? Where is the space to engage, to fall and stumble?

i don't want to live a life of ignorant abstinence.

I want to be able to tell dad that i am fascinated with porn. I don't want to be consumed by guilt and be held captive by it. I never could be honest and talk about it and work it through because my folks, bless their heart, never knew better. They only knew the law, not realizing there is another life called grace. So it was that as a kid, my explorations and confessions led to sheer condemnation and shame.

How will the next generation grow up, know they have their free choices and are safe to make them? I wonder if we never engaged with it ourselves, how much more would we when we have children looking up to us for pointers?

Reminds me of the movie, Clockwork Orange. Which also reminds me of a pastor who suggested shock therapy might be the way to go when i confided in him on my confused sexual orientation. We don't need shock therapy, it's everywhere. My mum almost dissected my ass when she caught me with my pants down. So it ought to be that every time i am aroused, i will remember the pain of the cane on my ass and in so being, i'd be rid of the sin?

How did we get here? How did we create such an oppressive culture that we need to be clean, holy and white washed? So much that we're afraid to talk about it, afraid to even admit to ourselves we have an issue. We take on pseudo facades and play the part. We live like the law dictates. Love your neighbour, don't hate. Love God with all your heart, don't do this, don't touch that, see no evil, speak nothing.

Not surprising that cancer is a cleaner story than one of addiction. We are all to blame for his lies. We placed the man on the pedestal and give him no room to be weak and be honest with himself.

I remember i told a lie to get out of the marching band when i was 13. A lie that I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and wasn't physically able to take part. All because i was afraid to tell the teachers, my officers, that all i wanted to do on a saturday was take part in the drama club, the shunned, lesser school club that was for the soft, nancy pants.

Now I'm grateful this community's forefathers made Romans mandatory memory verses for the young. The law is structure, guidelines, rules, dos, donts and lots of dots to join. They do not produce life - our knowledge of good and evil, what we know to be right from wrong, is not enough. Yet, grace is a dangerous thing. It has no boundaries. It just gives and gives and gives before we even need it - foregiveness.

I believe God is shaking us of our subculture - our false expectation on those we call our leaders. Our one man leads us all into inspiration from the days of Martin Luther. I believe God is taking us back to the days when the church began - simple communities that love each other, work things out, selling their possessions to feed each other. I believe God wants us to work out our weaknesses and the things we lack within the setting of a true community. Not a faux community that erects men as pseudo shining beacons that make us feel so bad about ourselves that we stay inside the line.

Maybe all we need to hear, is that, it's all right, you're human.

heel and toe

the week is beginning. all of 70 minutes into a new week. the morning has begun but i haven't had a chance to snooze and nest this sore bottom. the snowboarding effect is still sticking. overcompensating on alternate limbs is indeed causing more aches than what I'm dealing with. my brother said, just step through the pain and don't allow the body to side step.

i don't know what to expect, except the spirit is nudging with a sense of expectancy. maybe its just me not knowing what is going to happen, coupled with a sense of ongoing freedom and knowing that somehow, the bills have to be paid and ways i have to think of outside the square to stay the responsible second chance i have grown to cherish. i can count down the next two weeks till my vault is empty without a dime, even with my entrepreneurial 'stocktake eBay sale' plan.

rent, the one thing that makes us work our backs to almost exist. do we ever own anything?

At the heel of it all, i have no plans. But i do know i am focussing on buying time with the new workaround to lay it down. And hopefully, the work i do will provide a payoff. I'm serious. Like a friend once quipped, I've paid with my life so far. Time for payback, would that not be fine? Seems like I've been quoting this friend quite a bit lately. Ah, the school of smart asses and the intellectually unsatisfied. I'm so blessed.

Been watching too much delayed TV lately. It just chews up your time. But it's the kind of time i wouldn't spend doing anything else. Just because of the company, my brother along for the conversation. i'd do anything as long as love is in the house like a blanket, like a partnership, like kinship, like blood. everything becomes meaningful. songs get released from my heart. every bit of creation becomes relevant, my ears become attentive, my spirit inspired to move, extend, focus, trust, walk. Things I have been guarding jealously.

i've been scratching the surface to find a piece of heirloom that evidences my heritage and future. not that i have made it happen for myself, but i have found grace in the most unlikely of places. yet again. i am not surprised that God is taking me to the great unknown. as long as He knows, i will be present. i am. present.

His love endures.

On another note, in the reflections I heard from the few musicians post Sunday, surrounding the Guglielmucci story, it occurred to me that if we do not know how to be accountable, at the very least to the spirit, the beasts of the earth will make sure we are accountable to the world. That, is the extent of God's grace over our lives. For that, I am grateful.

His mercy endures.

an afterthought on lies

I am sitting here, like the rest of my consumption hungry world, feeding and scavenging on every piece of news about Mike Guglielmucci's fall from our man made pedestal. I feel sick in my stomach. Not because of what he did, but that i stayed up late to dig the last 24 hours of google crawls just to satisfy my own itch on what feels like a scandal.

We all fall from grace and it is a mark of missing the point that we shovel through the thick to lick the same candy over and over again.

I'm reminded of the conversations with a former romance surrounding the Old Testament. Solomon quips there is nothing new under the sun and how very true yet again. We are visual people. We need to be satisfied by the pleasure of our eyes. History tells us that a celebrity centric culture already existed before the Haggards, Clintons and Holywoods. We bite the hand that feeds us, we ask for kings to rule over us, to tell us how to be, handsome beautiful human representations of God to be our point of reference.

The world is hurting and the world is talking, some making wise conversations, while others need to keep their mouth shut. It ought to bring us to a listening point to where our worship lies. Now it makes sense when i think about a fellow musician who was uncomfortable with the pedestal limelight on his incredible talent and would rather sit at the feet of the word and work out the heart of his devotion. It may have been selfish but what otherwise would he have been feeding?

Which brings me to consider all this music and the meaning of my investment in times like these. We write, either as authentic expressions or for purposes of extension. Others may employ the means to line pockets for a living. I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I don't even think the problem is authenticity of the writing, the idea, the heart or the talent or ear of the creator.

The problem is marketing. Which is what happens before distribution.

Here's the thing. We want to be sold. We want to feel like that million dollar soap powder will bring us enlightenment - this idea of inherent value. We want to feel prosperous, filled, full, insatiated. We want to be told lies, stories sensational, ideas that scratch our back. Our forefathers asked God for rulers and kings and judges to lead us and rejected God himself. Marketing is a brain child of our desires. We want it and we will pay big money for it.

I was sitting in a personal development conference many years ago and they showed us a video of a social experiment. It was simply a youtube footage of someone giving away a $10 bill to random strangers and nobody on the street would take it. Skeptical, fear, etc? I remember thinking to myself how it was possible that no one wanted something free?

Put a little spin on it, pay someone to talk about it, package it, tug away and if you position it right in time and space, you can price it anyhow you want. That same musician i mentioned earlier was telling me of a recent story about an iPhone app that was sold on iTunes music store for $999. It did nothing more than pop up as a really nice and intriguing eye candy screen saver. And 8 people paid money for it. A thousand bucks for a screen saver. These are the days where perceived value is as good as a smart ass wagging shoe maker.

Or clever rhetoric as some call it.

We are surrounded by partial revelations, pre-packaged promises and distilled fabricants leading our nose by the carrot dangle. May we be prudent with where our wages go, where we give worship. Above all, let us guard our hearts and minds with understanding and choice consideration. For prosperity, really, is godly wisdom, trusting in a Grace laced Original creative Designer. May we learn to listen to His spirit, free from the filters of our modern day compressors, tuners, electronic enhancers and hollow graphic drugs. May we return to our humanity and beauty that is of a broken and contrite spirit.

an empty bell

what does it mean anymore? that His love endures forever. when all we've got are ashes, empty rooms and a rainy season. it spells of a heart calloused and caught up with the cares of humanity, too far ahead to find it's footsteps home.

i'd give anything to come back to this place where i'd be truly happy and content.

trust. even when everything around me makes it difficult, makes it so darn hard to believe, i have to trust, that this God who created me, is working things out for me. that goodness and mercy follows me wherever i go.

i don't want to stay in the i don't knows and I can'ts. But what an empty wide space i now have before me? What do I fill it with? What do I do with it? Do i fill it with anything? The answers are not clear.

my heart is restless. wanting more. more. more. but i tarry in the waiting room, wondering if the doctor has forgotten my number...

and then, half way between putting my thoughts together, catching up with a close friend online, i was alerted to this piece of news that is already sending shock to a considerable sized community world wide.

I'm not sure how to take this. Some part of me is skeptical about the article but so far, most independent media, blogs and such have pointed to the authenticity of the claim that writer of the song, Healer, has attached a fake personal story of his struggle with cancer.

I'm a little shaken, well, pardon the pun, it wasn't intended at all, but I am not entirely shocked. I know too well my own human condition to pick up the brick. It could happen to anyone, Ted Haggard or not, Bill Clinton or not.

These are the days where we need to be reminded to come back to the heart of worship.

May life abound in these times for Pastor Mike. May his ear still be attentive. May his heart still be open to the chiding of the spirit. May we learn to lay our lives down, in spite of the meaninglessness of these troubles.

open season

I've hit a gash in the road. well this is the second. this time, i made the choice to walk and i am walking dry now as it stands. i lose my cool, on the one closest to me. and it's not cool.

i wish i could take it back. but part of me wouldn't have it any other way.

it's like something in me always goes looking for trouble. am i restless again like it was in the 1990s? i never meant for it to come across that way. God knows what damage I have done with you. I'm really sorry and I hope you can still trust me.

there's a bland bitter taste in my mouth trying to sort through them job ads, plowing through every cover letter and discovering dust and cobwebs on my resume in need of attention. it doesn't help that those foreboding voices in my head is louder than ever during this time. and some moments i give in and my head caves, the past comes back like an eager sex drive on my heels for news and calamity.

I've survived so many storms before, what more this one?

Except, this feels like the calm before the storm. Not even close. I'm sitting at the brim of it, engulfed with fear, not knowing, just really silent, in case i miss out on the voices that will bring me hope.

But what am I waiting for? Why do I wait? My neck is sore, my lower left back is stiff and my body is in so much pain. I'm waiting for the arrival of equipment to bridge these technical gaps. Things out of my control. I woke up this week wanting to put all of my soul onto the digital bar, track every nuance and capture each lingering mood. Only to find them interrupted by buzz bleep click pop intrusions and noise, the result of low voltage transmission. Or at least how i figure it to be.

I know there's always going to be snags on the way. Not that anything owes me my time, but something I would rather do without.

So now I'm musing, inside the new cafe that sits more like an art museum chic club, trying to gather my strength and do something productive. Like hunting. Maybe it'll come to me, my realignment, now that I am out of the place I spent the last 48 hours in.

Something in me still yearns for a short message to tell me it's ok. But the more i say it, the tougher it gets. That, is the currency of real love in action. I just have to keep believing and trusting.

I will be better. I will get better. I'm just, not there yet.

keeping up with the jones'

it's been almost a month since i put my pen to paper, his electronic type pad, that is. i'm feeling lost even trying to edit my thoughts here. i guess losing my job has taken a lot out of me. been writing much poetry lately, mostly in my head, afraid to put pen to it, for fear these nightmares come to undergird all the equilibrium herein.

what am i so afraid of?

i remember saturday night, the scene before the party. my tear stained face pressed against another, the warm glow from the ears and hands adding another dose of healing. i treaded carefully, wobbling clumsily on unchartered territories. places we've never gone before. this is all new. but this, this, is a good beginning.

times like these i wonder why i am still here? why you are still on the couch with me? why you still haven't walked away? why you still trust me? why God's still in love to have His hands and feet hold me in these unlikely times.

who am i that You should be mindful of me?

i've listened to them voices that accuse, condemn and twist. i've stopped singing because i was afraid. now, it's a scary thought to think of what is ahead. i'm afraid to pick up the guitar, for i know not what i might write, that might be a prelude to a journey less travelled.

but some things never change. and this one thing is the one thing that cuts the cake for me.

so to hell with the jones' and their nice dresses and shoes and status quo. i wanna be known for the songs we sing all through generations. songs like nursery rhymes that speak of His glory.

give me this day my daily bread, literally.