Watch of gryphons

Weekend in the Cultural Capital

2006-03-15T12:05:00.000+13:00

Back when I lived in Wellington, I looked with envy at the NZ International Festival of the Arts and the shows I couldn't afford. So as my holidays coincided with the Festival this year, I decided to head down and have a cultural fix, as well as say hi to some of the family.

On Saturday afternoon I parked my car on Oriental Parade and weaved through the mass of people walking, jogging, rollerblading, cycling, chatting, sunbathing, shopping, heading in & out of cafes, to the Opera House on Manners Street. I had a front row seat for Eva - a flamenco dance performance. There was Eva as the soloist dancer, two male and three female dancers as a troupe, three male flamenco singers, two flamenco guitarists, a guy on bongoes and a drum, and another man playing the flute and soprano sax. The dancing and musicians were evocative, passionate, beautiful, creative and exciting. Many of the audience gave them a standing ovation at the end. Eva and the other dancers alternated dances, changing costumes each time. I found it interesting that though the male flamenco dancers use the same movements as the female flamenco dancers, the males dancing looked masculine, and the females looked feminine - unique to flamenco maybe?

Saturday evening I attended James MacMillan Conducts in the Michael Fowler Centre. The first half was the NZ Symphony Orchestra playing three modern orchestral pieces. The compositions were somewhat disjointed and I can't pretend I understood a lot of it. The second half was better though, as James MacMillan incorporated the NZ Youth Choir, a children's choir and four male soloists with the orchestra for the piece. The composition was abstract and melancholy, and I enjoyed it, especially with the choirs in full blast.

Sunday afternoon/evening I went to an epic theatre performance called The Dragons' Trilogy. It was at the Queens Wharf Event Centre. The rectangle performance area was in the middle, with two bleachers on either side, and the remainder of the space was closed off with black sheets - so the actual venue was smaller and more intimate. I sat a few rows back from the front. The play went for 5 hours and 45 minutes, including two 20 minute intervals and a 30 minute interval. The play was engrossing and powerful. I was surprised to see at the end there were only 8 actors, as the actors played different characters through the performance. The acting was brilliant, the story was beautiful and sad, and it's kept me thinking even now. Most of the lines were in French, some in English, and a few in Chinese (there was some translation on a screen near the roof). It was definitely the highlight of the weekend.

I also checked out some free art exhibitions:

Earth From Above - large-scale landscape photos displayed along the promenades at Chaffers Park on the waterfront. Intriguing and impressive, each with a message about the state of the world's environment.
Cezanne to Picasso - fourteen impressionist and abstract French paintings from the 1850s to the 1950s. Interesting, but not that impressive to me, alright if you're French I suppose. I can't yet understand why people would pay millions for a Picasso.
Patricia Piccinini - a contemporary Australian artist who designs animals to promote the survival of some endangered species, genetically engineered animals to look after babies, baby motorcycles, and baby trucks. She uses life-size sculptures, metallic and rubber prototypes, video, and pictures for her art. It challenged ideas about genetic engineering and confused my feelings of revulsion and affection for some of her human/animal/other mixed beasts.
Michael Smither - The Wonder Years (1962 - 1979). This was the exhibition I was most impressed with. The paintings were done when the artist lived in New Plymouth and were grouped into family, religious and landscape paintings. The paintings were distinctive, detailed, and some had layers of meaning that made you want to keep coming back to them.
Te Papa also had an exhibition of artwork and artefacts through New Zealand's history to now. The change of style and emphasis was interesting but I didn't appreciate Te Papa's anti-pakeha bias analysis of the art and the artists.

Sunday morning I went to the Central Baptist Church. I really enjoyed the service. We sang a few songs I last sung almost two decades ago! I liked the artwork around the church, the tolerance extended to people's different stages of faith and expression, and the coffee before the service to keep people awake (!). The pastor preached a challenging sermon about justice and good governance for the oppressed. I thought "wow". Despite this recurrent theme through scripture, it's rare for me to hear a sermon preached on it.

I stayed with my Grandma for a day as part of her 76th birthday celebration. We went for a swim at the beach and played board games. Though age wearies us, some simple pleasures are always fun.

And now I'm back, with summer fleeting, a cold developing (that southerly Wellington wind was something else!), and another work year approaching like a freight train. I do feel a bit more "culturified" now, having learnt more about art and music, and experiencing amazing theatre and dance.

P.D.A.s (public displays of affection)

2006-03-08T23:21:00.000+13:00

I was wary of posting this. The risk with poetry is that it can cut close to the bone sometimes. I wrote this poem a few years ago, so I think there's enough distance between the writing and publishing for me to discard the personal angst and approach the poem aesthetically now.

~

You see it coming like a blossoming rose
Seeping sweet scent, baiting your nose,
as if life wasn't already short enough.

swirling down
like a cataclysmic thundercloud
the gift from heaven.

Love!
Watch it, glue your eyes
taking your friends, your good friends, to giddy heights
gasping with joy, delight in the other, in each other.

But don't watch, it is too bright
for those who have been in darkness for too long.

And as the honey moves down their arcèd throats
radiant peace envelopes their faces
tears flood my heart

Stop!
Please for once look
beyond your Christmas dinner
and see me starving, drooling on the side,
my skin wrapped ribs wracked with pain.

Through the tears, I bless
and curse
And bless with a toothless smile.

For it is the most beautiful thing to ever behold;
an awakened dream for the lucky
a drugged taunt for the damned.

Yes
take what is rightfully yours
Your love is to be experienced, drunk, osmocised, complete.

But not here
I just can't take it.

~

Reflections from Motuora Island

2006-03-07T23:17:00.000+13:00

I haven't posted for a while, though I've been on holiday! A week ago I spent five days on Motuora Island, a DOC reserve south of Kawau Island in Northland, as a DOC volunteer. I loved the experience, learning and doing conservation work, kayaking, swimming, relaxing, snorkeling, and chatting with the other volunteers. A highlight was looking for, and finding, kiwis in the wild. We stayed in a 1950s bach overlooking the pohutukawas, white beach and crystal clear water. I loved it. One lazy evening after reading Odysseus's travels in Homer's Odyssey (translated of course!), my brain got to wandering and I penned these lines - a few reflective thoughts.

~

As clouds wisp over the purple weave
When the sun lengthens the shadows
When calm descends to mark the eve
As the crisp-chopped swells turn smooth
I consider what my life is not
I rue the fortune of my lot.

As Odysseus and Calypso love each night
When the goddess holds him a captive
When lovers flirt, tease, lust and ignite
As men redeem youth in these chains
I float in freedom's ether haze
I thirst for fiefdom, love ablaze.

As religion and dogma begin to deflate
When edicts expose their hypocrisy
When philosophical walls disintegrate
As lost souls seek shelter from storms
I see my Lord on the grassy rough
I hear his voice say "I am enough."

As peace and beauty scent the breeze
When selfishness rots the flesh
When friends deodorise my disease
As flies of peers feast on the shame
I pray for innocence again for all
I long for retroaction to restore my fall.

~

Attack of Mother Calamity

2006-02-15T23:36:00.000+13:00

A blink of lightning luminates
and thunder bellows in refrain.
The skies have opened up their gates
and sheet the road with pouring rain.
         windscreen wipers back forth back forth
         thumping heartbeat mimics their course

Inside, the car maintains its cool
a dry eighteen point five degrees.
Serene sounds from magnetic spools
of tapes, to put my mind at ease.
         roar as front wheels plough through water
         spray of grey sheen from the gutter

Across dark fields the car speeds past.
The vehicle cage curtailed in flight
by shudders caught from each rain blast.
My eyes are drawn to dashboard lights.
         thoughts adrift in specked array
         things that I have done today ...

Boom!  A hideous face glued to the window
    grey mottled hair streaming 'cross pickled skin
              disfigured
  two angled chipped teeth encased in an oyster leer
     ancient eyes
 I gasp.  Eyes locked to hers.  Frozen scared.
An emaciated arm extends in the speeding blackness outside.
  Click.
The door opens.  Roar.  Three white bones grip the door 
frame and a naked hag hurls herself in
grabs the steering wheel, and pulls.
The car jerks violently to the left, and hurtles like a rhino 
through a ramshackle 2-wire fence towards shadows
of kahikatea.
A bump
Upside down
An awful metal-tearing sound
Black.

The mud is pooling on the seat.
A sticky substance paints my face.
A searing pain rips from my feet.
Glass shards around my landing place.
         headlights floating 'cross the storm haze
         shrill wind, hard drops, gas scent, mind dazed

Alone and crying in my pain.
Dark sentinels of nature stand
above, with their strong limbs not fain
to heal my soul, to hold my hand.
         calamity has struck me, maimed me
         won't somebody see me! help me!

The timid dawn reveals the crash site.
Policemen come to clear the scene.
My suffering makes a T.V. soundbite
a curt synopsis on the screen.
         viewers lounging on the sofa
         tut tut, then reach for the soda

Disaster can strike suddenly
in any place, in any raiment.
Personal expediency
Oft relegates to entertainment.
         empathy can soften suff'ring
         action can bring down the bruising.

Toro Toro

2006-02-12T22:07:00.000+13:00

Some of you may be interested to know about the photo currently in my blog profile. It is a photo of a place called Toro Toro, in the Bolivian midlands. I spent five days trekking through there when I was 12, with my classmates from a mission school in Cochabamba. It was an amazing, character-building trek, mainly because of the bonding with my friends and the challenges and adventures we had over that time. Looking back on my photos I think I'd appreciate the location and scenery so much more if I went back as an adult. It is an ancient location, with a canyon, underground caves, large boulders, dinosaur prints on a steep rock slope, and I even found a bizarre shell like a seashell - 500 km on the leeward side of the Andes mountains. Maybe someday I'll scan these photos and post them. The only link I could find on a quick Google search was this one.

In the background of the photo are rock formations that looked to me like giant tombstones, sloped backwards with age. There are over 20 of them lining both sides of the Toro Toro valley.

I like the photo, even though I'm not the person in it, because I've tramped that same track. It is a metaphor of my life's walk through an old and intriguing world, where others have walked before me, and will walk after me. But I enjoyed the journey so much more because I walked it with friends.

Track Greed

2006-02-07T21:37:00.000+13:00

As Jesus once said, "what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and yet lose his soul?"

~

The locomotion of greed
desires
a break, a chance to stomp goodwill
fuel
heartbreak with pain, guilt a distraction
coalesce
coal of conceit, more than you seem
dreams
make your reality, break other bridges
commitment
never wavering, one track mind
override
full steam ahead, bulldoze the crossings
infatuation
like jealousy, must get to greener grass
imbalance
lopsided side mirror, burn the instructions
selfish
tunnel vision, big pictures spoil focus
delusion
earthquake hits, the mountains are laid low
despair
springs death, the fool laid waste.

~

Those cartoons ... ...

2006-02-05T22:59:00.000+13:00

The twelve Mohammed cartoons published in a Danish newspaper have sure knocked about a wasp nest. I have sat and watched footage of muslims swearing death to any country that dare publish those cartoons. I have read a range of views around the fracas, and I think have come to some sort of position.

What is the key conflict here? It seems to be the right of free speech versus the demand to censor anything that may cause offense to a major religious group (Islam).

Is it newsworthy? Are the cartoons worth reprinting? Is this a topic worth discussing in the country's national newspapers? Yes. It was not news when the cartoons were first published. It became news when large crowds began protesting and burning down embassies because of it. It became bigger news when other papers, including the Dominion Post, published the cartoons and protests and trade sanction threats were sparked across the Arab world, and some western countries too.

Are the cartoons offensive? Yes. Oh sure, not to me. Most aren't even satire. Two even mock the newspaper for trying to stir up controversy. But apparently any picture of Mohammed is offensive - even more than a picture of Allah would be. So I suppose even a beautiful Rembrandt of Mohammed would be offensive to Muslims.

A sub-issue is hypocrisy. The NZ Herald chose not to publish the cartoons because "well, we could, but we don't want to offend people just because we can". That exposes double-standards. In the past the Herald has delighted publishing pictures offensive to Christians, and cartoons offensive to politicians and nation states, in part to be provocative and sell more papers. The refusal to print the cartoons (a valid news story) is a departure from form.

Are the protesting muslims being hypocritical, when their state-controlled media outlets have published cartoons decrying and mocking Israel and western nations? Well, no, because they don't believe in free speech. If they did, then it would be hypocrisy. But in their worldview, Islam is absolute. It overrides anything it may come up against. Islam is also violent, in part because it is usually linked with the powers of state like enforcement and warfare (as Christianity once was), but also because Islam/Peace is gained through the unimpeded spread of Mohammed's teachings through the world - and this end seems to justify any means.

As I believe in freedom of speech, I support my right to post these opinions, the right for newspapers to publish cartoons that are offensive to a religous group (though the question should always be asked: is this wise, sensitive or appropriate?), and the right for Muslims to protest down Queen Street against the cartoons.

So we have an immovable, inarguable, un-'reason'-able force (the teachings of Islam) ramming against a treasure of the free world: the freedom of speech. Through a wider lens, it is one culture and worldview demanding that another culture and worldview obey its rules, or suffer the consequences. There is no space for tolerance here, because to exist, tolerance must be shared. While secular nations allow tolerance, moslem nations do not if something is contrary to any part of Islam.

So as our country is not an Islamic state, New Zealand must actively reject this attack on freedom of speech, a fundamental tenet of our society. Publish and be damned.

Sweltering nights

2006-02-02T21:28:00.000+13:00

Sweat clings to my body like a second skin. The mercury has refused to drop below 20 degrees for the last four days, maybe more. My sheets lie unused, as I swelter on my bedcover.

The warm, humid air hovers in from the Pacific northeast. Blanket-grey cloud cover suspends itself overtop. We're like potatoes rotting under the moist sack of air, curling out white-green tendrils from our brains. Sweat stains encircle my shirt seams. I wash them but they never seem to fully dry out. I take them off the line with the same oppressive scent in the outside air, like a fat lady with a thin-hair moustache hugging me in her sweaty, pudgy arms.

An outline of the thin moon shines through the haze. All day the air has packed in moisture but remains thick and tense, unwilling to seek release, to form droplets that fall to the ground and take the heat with it. I've found refuge at work, a citadel protected by a stand of air conditioning units that cool and dry the air for our comfort and relief. But at 5pm I must push my bicycle back into the thick air, atrophy on my couch, and endure another night half-sleeping, half-swimming in the darkness.

But it won't last forever. My eyes picked up at the sight of a high pressure system moving in from the Tasman, with a southerly breeze as its vanguard. It will bring midday heat, yes, but it will also bring cool mornings, bright sunlight, and dry air. My skin prickles at the thought.

2006 Golden Statuette Parachute Awards

2006-01-30T21:22:00.000+13:00

I've just returned from Parachute Christian Music Festival at Mystery Creek, Hamilton. The main reason I went along this year was to help man the Iconz stand in the Global Village (missions) tent. The second reason was to catch up and hang out with old friends. And thirdly, maybe to listen to some bands. Truth be told, I didn't think the lineup was that crash-hot this year.

DIGRESSION - Isn't it odd how we say lines like "Truth be told ...", and "well, to be honest ...", and "to tell you the truth, I think ...", as if we lie all the time, but just this time we've decided to be honest?!

So with the proviso that I did not listen to every single band performing this year ... [drum roll please] my votes are in and here are my Golden Statuette Parachute awards for 2006.

Best Debut Artist: Lieutenant Funk. For a change I didn't actually listen to any Debut bands this year, but a few mates raved about these guys. Comments like: "tight", "funky", "interacted well with the crowd", and "cute lead singer and hot base player". May be a band to look out for next year.

Most Pleasant Surprise: Shooting Stars. This acoustic duo of Ben Claxton and Dave Barr (also part of Mumsdollar) delighted me with their great songs and harmonies. Plus they're very endearing.

Best Mainstage Act: Delirious?. No surprises here. These guys presented a suite of new songs (new for me) with passion and enthusiasm. Delirious? know how to present a cohesive show, not just standing there and playing music.

Most Memorable Moment: The Napoleon Dynamite guy doing the Napoleon Dynamite dance in the Late 80s Mercedes show. Very unfortunately I wasn't there but those who were said it was great. A certain high school teacher at Kingsway College, Orewa, said the dance has made his year.

Best Rap/Hip Hop Set: Rapture Ruckus. This guy has improved and wore a cool black jacket during his Mainstage show. Though it's a pity there isn't much competition in this category at these Awards.

Best Seminar: I didn't go to any. Someone else will have to present this award for me. Oh, I did go to the Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n' Roll seminar for a few minutes. Yawn. Tell us something we haven't heard before - sex bad (unless married, then sex good), drugs bad (full stop), rock 'n' roll is great but the lifestyle more difficult than people think. We left for the Clean Comedy Show instead.

Dumbest Excuse for a Headline-Act Band: The Valley. I didn't hear anyone who took these guys seriously.

Best DJ: A double-award here, totally skewed because I'm not that clued up on the electronica scene. Firstly George Bates cos I hung out with him recently and he is a very nice guy, and secondly Steve Styrus who looks like he stepped out of The Matrix - suave, tempered, sharp dresser, and a smooth ballroom dancer. Oh hang on, wrong awards ceremony! His DJing is highly enjoyable. A small gripe here - the DJs now stop at midnight because of noise restrictions. So because I usually prioritise the other bands, I couldn't dance to electronic thumps, clangs and whistles as much as I'd like to.

Best Takeaway: The banana, chocolate icecream, ice and water slushie. The day was so hot and my throat so dry that I cold-burned my palate. Oooohhh, it huurts, but it's so GOOOD. I had to stop myself from breaking out in groans of ecstasy with every slurp.

DIGRESSION - "Ecstasy" is a hard word to spell and needs some concentration. Exkstasi? If one was actually in ecstasy, it would be impossible to spell.

Best Worship Band: The Parachute Band. Sure, they're a Hillsongs clone, but they do it so well. And the songs they perform pull at my soul strings.

And that concludes this Golden Statuette Parachute Award ceremony for another year. I'm off for a decent shower. [mutter mutter Parachute give the girls lots of shower areas but the boys have to queue grumble grumble] Seriously though, Parachute Music do a very good job at organising this event every year. Sorry I won't dole them out extra cash to promote NZ CCM, though they asked plaintively every 15 minutes, but I will give them kudos for being very world-savvy yet God-focused in what they do.

Heavenly Forces

2006-01-25T21:33:00.000+13:00

I appreciate the rain - it's a welcome break for me, the soil and my new tomato vines! And this summer storm is pretty neat ... but not when it keeps going for days on end. I started writing this poem during a winter in Palmerston North, when I hadn't seen blue skies for about a month. Hooray for the Bay of Plenty climate.

~

Another rainy day.
Angry drops hurling themselves at my window,
this translucent barrier, shielding me from the fury outside
splattering like spurts of clear blood
empty yet lukewarm,
enraged they cannot enter my room
then spent of force, they stream to my window frame
leaking down to puddles for the damp earth to drink
insatiable thirst, absorbing until sponge-soaked.

I look up
to where some invisible hand has split the brooding grey
and formed a chasm through which I see blue
I want to rocket up and through, before the sky-cliffs close again
and I'm trapped under the malevolent ceiling of cloud.

The wind rattles my door
and watery tentacles extend through gap between door and floor
staining a warning on my doorstop.
Another day and my refuge may be breached
unless the heavenly forces of good win their war
and force away the marauding enemy
with blasts of solar energy.

I try to ignore the opaque light casting no shadows
on my walls gradually fading to dark
and dream of better days
days when the sun still shone, the sky was blue
and skin was warmed by early morning rays
when yells of laughter echoed across green fields
and life radiated from our limbs as we danced.

But for now my veins drain phlem
from moistened lungs to atrophied brains.
Sunken eyes staring upwards
past the rat-tat-tat of rain-fire
past the ugly grey stormers
bashed about by furious northeasterly winds
hoping to once again catch a glimpse
of some blue sky.

~

Misinformation

2006-01-21T13:16:00.000+13:00

A recent 3 News bulletin reported the case of an Australian police officer who was stood down. The policeman is accused of covering up several instances of violence by middle-eastern gangs while prosecuting the white mobs who rioted in Cronulla a while ago. The report was the first official media report I'd seen about something I strongly suspected: that when the Aussie yobbos mobbed together through txt msg "bash the lebbos", it was more than the media portrayal of racist Australians going out and gang-bashing innocent middle-eastern immigrants.

I don't see the so-called "Cronulla race riots" as purely racially motivated. My dictionary defines (condensed) racism as:

abusive or agressive behaviour towards members of another race on the basis of a belief that there are hereditary cultural characteristics in a race that makes it intrinsically superior to another (emphasis mine).

The media has, for the most part, implied that the riots were simply ugly racism. However, the riots weren't because middle-easterners are inferior in Australia. They seemed to be primarily a reaction against malevolent and increasing acts of violence and general anti-social behaviour by certain members of ethnic groups who come from cultures where guns and violence are the way to assert yourself, who are impoverished and irate about it, feel no connection with Australia and its people, and who try to take over and control city blocks, beaches and neighbourhood parks.

Also, the media (in NZ anyway) did not report the retailation of the middle-eastern gangs against the yobbo uprising, which did not target the trouble-makers but white tourists, families or bystanders who had the bad luck of strolling through their streets at the wrong time.

I don't condone the actions taken by Cronulla residents against the middle-easterners.
But I do see the long-standing ethnic conflict behind it, and until Australian authorities, police, policy-makers and media recognise it and look at ways to resolve it rather than hiding it under the veil of political-correctness, I will not condemn them either.

Myers Briggs

2006-01-21T13:08:00.000+13:00

I just took a Myers Briggs personality test. Many of my friends had done it and appreciated the level of personality analysis that went along with it - better than some!

My results were surprising, having gone through some of the categories once with a friend I thought I'd be different but then I read the analysis and it was pretty much spot-on - shows that personality tests can sometimes reveal new things you hadn't seen before.

INFP

New computer

2006-01-14T17:30:00.000+13:00

I am playing with an amazing new laptop I have just bought from Dick Smiths. My old, second-hand one finally blipped out, so I took a deep breath and shelled out to buy this beauty. It's an Acer Aspire 3003WLMi with an extra 256 MB RAM. And no-one better criticise it cos I like it a lot!

Taken from a random journal

2006-01-12T21:19:00.000+13:00

I like questionnaires. Especially random internet ones. I sourced this one from Andy's blog, who stole it "from a random journal". That's my reference, so I'm not plagarising. I like that this questionnaire is edgier than most of the cheesy personality-surveys out there. But I did make a few changes to make it more relevant to NZ.

Have you ever...

(x) been in love
( ) been dumped
( ) shoplifted
( ) been fired
(x) quit a job

( ) been in a fist fight
( ) snuck out of your parents' house
(x) had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
( ) made out with a stranger
( ) gone on a blind date

( ) lied to a friend
( ) had a crush on a teacher
( ) skipped high school
( ) slept with a co-worker
( ) seen someone die

( ) smoked a cigarette
( ) smoked a cigar
( ) smoked anything else
( ) made out with a member of the same sex
( ) crashed a friend's car

( ) stolen a car
( ) had a crush on one of your good friends.
(x) been to Australia
(x) been to Whakatane
( ) been in a coma

( ) thrown up in a bar
(x) purposely set a part of yourself on fire
(x) eaten Sushi
(x) been snowboarding
(x) been moshing at a concert

( ) been in an abusive relationship
(x) taken painkillers
( ) love someone or miss someone right now
(x) laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by
(x) made a snow angel

(x) had a tea party
(x) flown a kite
(x) built a sand castle
(x) gone puddle jumping
(x) played dress up

( ) gone bungy-jumping
(x) gone rock-climbing
(x) cheated while playing a game
(x) been lonely
(x) fallen asleep at work/school

( ) used a fake I.D.
(x) watched the sun set
( ) been flooded (in a storm)
(x) touched a snake
(x) been tickled

(x) been robbed
( ) robbed someone
(x) been misunderstood
( ) had a pet rat or mustelid
( ) got first prize at a contest

(x) ran a stop sign on purpose
( ) been suspended from school
(x) had detention
( ) been in a car accident
( ) had braces

(x) felt like an outcast
(x) eaten a whole punnet of ice cream in one night
( ) had deja vu
(x) danced in the moonlight
(x) hated the way you look

(x) witnessed a crime
( ) pole danced
(x) questioned your heart
( ) been obsessed with post-it notes
(x) squished barefoot through a cowpat

(x) been lost
( ) been to the top and bottom of the country
(x) skinny-dipped
(x) felt like dying
( ) cried yourself to sleep

( ) played cops and robbers
(x) recently coloyred with crayons/colored pencils/markers etc.
(x) sung karaoke
( ) paid for a meal with only silver coins
(x) done something you told yourself you wouldn't

( ) made prank phone calls
(x) laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose
(x) caught a snowflake on your tongue
( ) kissed in the rain. ^_______________^
( ) written a letter to Santa Claus

( ) been kissed under a mistletoe
( ) watched the sun set with someone you care about
(x) blown bubbles
(x) made a bonfire on the beach
(x) crashed a party

(x) Have traveled more than 5 days with a car full of people
(x) gone ice-skating
( ) had a wish come true
( ) humped an animal
( ) worn pearls

(x) jumped off a bridge into water
( ) screamed 'penis' in class
( ) ate dog/cat food
( ) told a complete stranger you loved them
(x) sang in the shower

( ) have a little black dress
( ) had a dream that you married someone
( ) glued your hand to something
( ) got your tongue stuck to something cold
( ) kissed a fish

( ) worn the opposite sex's clothes
( ) been a cheerleader
(x) sat on a roof top
( ) had sex at a church
( ) screamed at the top of your lungs

( ) done a proper backflip
( ) talked on the phone for more than 3 hours
(x) stayed up all night
(x) didn't take a shower for a week
(x) picked and ate fruit growing on a tree hanging over a fence on a roadside

(x) climbed a tree
( ) have/had a tree house
(x) been too scared to watch scary movies alone
( ) believe(d) in ghosts
( ) have more then 30 pairs of shoes

( ) worn a really ugly outfit to school just to see what others say
( ) gone streaking
(x) played Go Home Stay Home in the dark
( ) played chicken
( ) been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on

( ) been told you're hot by a complete stranger
( ) broken a bone
(x) caught a fish then ate it
(x) caught a butterfly
(x) let the butterfly go

(x) laughed so hard you cried
( ) cried so hard you laughed
( ) had someone moon/flash you
( ) cheated on a test
(X) forgotten someone's name

(x) seen a miracle
(x) slept naked
(x) French braided someone’s hair
( ) been kicked out of your parents house
(x) prayed to God

Dare I leave my castle?

2006-01-09T21:14:00.000+13:00

A question I ask myself every time the scent of romance tempts me. As anyone who knows me can tell you, I haven't left my castle yet.

~

I approach my horizon with scales in my palms
weighing up the two options in my grasp.
One is singleness, kingdom of all I behold, my future in the stars.
The other is love, a foreign country, a curious smell.
Like Seligman's dogs I fear to tread, though the path appears clear.

How I have hammered futility into the cracks of my castle wall
bruising self into pulp, a hideous spectacle.
I accepted fate and grew mad, re-weaving my life's tapestries.
But now the padlock has popped, and the drawbridge is down
yet I am unsure if I can leave, given my shameful state.

I do not know what awaits on the other side.
I may complain that life was better in Egypt.
And what if I never get there, the bridge may be rotten
I may fall and be consumed by the crocodiles of public opinion.
In any case, how can I eat fruit with toothless gums?

~

Sweet, but altogether too short

2006-01-02T22:09:00.000+13:00

I'm back.

Christmas and the New Year holidays have come and gone, and I'm relaxing sedately with a glass of Pinot Noir, aged cheddar and sliced apple, listening to the mellow and brilliant tomes of Turin Brakes' Ether Song. Someday I will have to get their The Optimist E.P., it being one of my favourite songs.

After a week or so of lounging on the beaches of Onemana (Coromandel) and the East Coast (Waihau Bay and Tolaga Bay), constantly applying copious amounts of sunscreen, swimming, snorkelling, sporting, exploring, walking, reading, card'ing and board-gaming, mp3-ing, old friends, new friends, family, food and fantastic times, I've returned to home with a new tan, had my long recover shower, opened my few belated birthday presents, rung my parents for a chat, and started to mentally prepare myself for the new working year.

All in all, a most excellent holiday, with most excellent mates.

I love this time of year.

Nar-nee-yah

2005-12-20T19:19:00.000+13:00

I went to see the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe last Sunday night. I loved the book, and had heard good reviews from my workmates and other mates. But I was disappointed. I've been complaining about it for a few days now, so need to blog it out of my system, and get over it!

I thought the beginning of the movie was the best part! The bombing, the emotion, the train journey to the country all struck an emotional chord. Sadly, that was the last emotional chord strummed for the movie.

The acting of the children was poor, compared to the Hogwarts crew. Most of the CGI characters, like the beavers and the fox, were more authentic than the actual people! The girl characters were often different from the book as well. Peter was okay, the Edmund character was great (but could've been better had the movie followed the book storyline closer), but Susan was petty and girlish, and Lucy was occasionally sarcastic and untrusting.

Mr Tumnus was too human, and a poor attempt at a faun.

The White Witch was good, and great acting. Her dwarf was excellent. Aslan ... you could tell they tried so hard to get Aslan right. My first thought when I saw him was "oh, he's computer-generated!" And larger than I imagined. Looked okay, but the voice sounded like Aslan had a tape recorder in his CGI mouth. Always sounding the same, whether speaking to a large crowd or intimately with Susan and Lucy.

The winter scenes were terrible. It obviously wasn't snow, and the children obviously weren't cold. Lucy hardly even shivered when in her pyjamas. The children fell about in the snow, getting "snow" all over their clothes, without even doing the instinctive thing after you fall in snow - brush it off your clothes! When in a snowy winter, noses run, eyes narrow from the reflection, mouth narrows to limit the cold air, and bare hands do not rest casually on the snow!

The girls' ride on Aslan was poorly done. Aslan's bounding along at a million miles an hour, and the girls just sit there happily, wide eyed, not really holding on, hair barely moving. Yeah right.

I didn't like the professor. He was too nutty, and not deep enough or wise enough for me.

A lot of little things bugged me for being inconsistent with the book, when there was no reason why they should be. For example:

The wardrobe not looking 'ordinary', but rather a beautifully carved wardrobe covered with a sheet in the centre of the room.
Aslan being tied up with only a few ropes, not so thickly and tightly the girls couldn't undo any of the knots.
The children seeing Edmund walk into the White Witch's castle instead of believing the badgers and fleeing.
The girls letting the army know that Aslan was dead, via the trees. Would the army have believed that the almighty Aslan, creator of Narnia, was dead? And if they had, would they have bothered fighting, especially considering their many speeches of how much they depend on Aslan. Hardly.
Lucy and Mr Tumnus taking the "he's not a tame lion" words instead of the beavers in their dam, where it would make a lot more sense.
And as the wolves encircled the beaver's home, they escape through a network of earth tunnels. Hang on, wasn't their home ON the dam? Only ice and water below there.
When rescuing Edmund, why miss out the cool special effects of the witch and dwarf turning themselves into trees to escape?
Etc. etc.

Some changes I did like. I liked Peter's first face-off with the wolves on the melting waterfall. I was very happy to see they'd opted for the traditional Father Christmas rather than the modern Coca Cola version! I was also very glad they ditched C.S. Lewis's pretentious lines when they were grown up and chasing the white stag. At the battle, the phoenix-arrow was very cool. And the griffins looked fantastic, wheeling in the sky with a piercing shriek.

But all in all, the movie failed for me because I did not buy it. I did not believe I was in Narnia. I was not caught up in the story or the emotion, poorly acted and directed as it was. I did not believe in most of the main characters, their personalities or their motivations. If it had that X-factor, like the Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter have, I wouldn't have spent most of the movie exasperated, thinking "that doesn't make sense", "that's different from the book", as I would be too absorbed in the movie itself.

I rate the BBC version of the Lion, Witch and Wardrobe, made without a lot of the special effects, as better than this one. I suppose Disney & co had a good hash at it, and most people like it, but it was still disappointing for me.

Jack

2005-12-10T22:51:00.000+13:00

Jack lives an insular life.
Ears loaded with urban hum
Plays games people label trite
Academia flouts the dull one.

Jack lives on South Auckland-side.
Freeway and tar-seal frontiers
Skate symbols cover his hide
He has never touched the sea.

Jack hasn't felt the majesty
Salt and marine magic overpowering
Thus he is drunk on levity
All aspirations left foundering.

The end-of-year staff party

2005-12-09T22:08:00.000+13:00

Yes, it's that time again. The year has zoomed past and it's back to the Christmas functions. My work's social club had a formal end-of-year dinner last Thursday. I enjoyed myself - curry, chit chat, odd desserts and dance floor - but in some ways I felt like a visitor in a foreign culture.

Because I am a Christian I felt strongly obligated to place constraints on my behaviour. I would not flirt with tipsy women, except in jest. Neither would I flirt with tipsy men, except in jest. I chose not to do things that harm my wellbeing, like smoking various substances or drinking beyond excess. I did not yell, curse, act like a fool, or mock others. I was afraid to drink too much in case I said exactly what I think, or did something I'd regret.

As we partied into the night and the drinks kicked in, my co-workers lowered their inhibitions and focused on having a good time. But I could not lower my constraints - so enjoyed myself until the party got to the stage where I was too uncomfortable to stay on. Because to stay on risked my workmates' behaviour bumping against my constraints, and the rebuff and behaviour contrast would make things less fun very quickly.

Not that my workmates were drunken louts - they're good people for the most part who are welcoming, friendly, and look after each other. A few don't even drink at all. I recalled a discussion with Allan recently about whether drunkenness reveals your true nature, or just distorts it. Allan said that alcohol brings out a person's carnal nature, but inhibits the spiritual nature. I'm inclined to agree. It was interesting seeing some true personalities and neuroses rising to the fore that night.

Another thing I've become aware of, and saw it again that night: middle-aged women hit on young men just as much as middle-aged men hit on young women; only the latter is less acceptable now. It's never serious and can be amusing. Such innuendo is always one way, I can't do anything with it! The flirting could stem from the middle-aged woman's desire to be young, firm and sexy again. Or maybe because they've "seen it all, done it all before", and they know there's no consequence from it, they are free to say what they want and have some fun with it. Probably a mix of both.

Staff parties are strange beasts, because they place people who usually interact in a work environment, into a party setting with lots of alcohol. Odd and amusing stories result (none I'll share here!) but for me there's always the element of caution - how to behave, how to react, how to speak. In some ways I wish that element wasn't there, but it's part of who I am and the life I've chosen.

Love and Lose

2005-12-01T19:40:00.000+13:00

Is it better to love and lose, than to never to have loved at all? I don't remember who first coined that phrase, but it came to mind as the pastor at Nana's funeral said "We have loved Lois, and with every love there is likelihood that we will lose those we love." It's not just a likelihood, it's a certainty. If we choose to love someone, we start a journey that has an end. Death, separation, break-up, or the rust of time.

I am now aware the answer to the question is yes. We are richer for love, but not poorer for loss. The harder the love, the more painfall the break as the bond tears. Despite this, lovers experience something beautiful, powerful, and soul-building. As I love, I become greater. Despite the ups and downs of emotions and the inherent risk as I give trust to another. Because the reward is much greater: the love returned, the value received, the extension of myself, the laying down of self to gain more.

There's no doubt, to avoid love is much safer. But it shrivels oneself. Love is fire that germinates the desert seeds. It is the pen that scrawls the epic poems. It is the glue binding us to one another, a whole much greater than its sum, until the grave takes us all.

And maybe one day, it is the spell that rises from ancient times to bind our atoms together, as we rise with the earth-shaking roar of the Almighty.

Missionary Part 1

2005-11-17T20:44:00.000+13:00

When I was 11, my parents, my sister and I moved to Bolivia. Bolivia is a land-locked country in the middle of South America. Tropical, but one third of the country is in the Andes so the temperature is temperate or cold. My dad went there to be the principal of a mission school based just outside Cochabamba. My mum taught music. We lived within the school compound for two years. They were two of the three best years in my life, so far.

The school was called Carachipampa Christian School. Classes ranged from pre-kinder right through to Grade 12, with the whole gamut of history, math, English, science, Bible, etc. classes for the senior school. Over half of the teachers at Carachipampa were young single females from western nations spending one or a few years in the "mission field". During my attendance the school had 160 students, just under half of them Bolivian nationals. Their school fees were three times the fees of the mission kids, subsidising their tuition. Consequently the Bolivian students at the school came from the wealthy upper class. The gap between rich and poor in Bolivia is huge, institutionalised to a certain extent from the days of Spanish colonialism. There was no discernable middle class when I lived there, unless you count the missionaries.

There was a large concentration of missionaries based at Cochabamba. A major reason for this was the school. Do not underestimate the desire of these missionaries to ensure a good schooling for their children. And Carachipampa was an excellent school with high teaching and curriculum standards. The missionaries were willing to go overseas to serve the Lord, but less willing to entrust their children's education to him. Carachipampa used have a boarding section, but by the time we arrived the school no longer needed it. The parents of the 90 or so mission kids attending the school were based in Cochabamba in major part because of the local school.

Another reason were the number of mission "guest houses" or bases within the city. Our guest house compound was large because we belonged to SIM, a large international mission organisation. Most of the missionaries liked to mix with themselves. Of course they had their ministries, but they lived at a higher level than the average Bolivian. When choosing a church, they would prefer to go to a church where there were some white faces who spoke English. Especially since some long-term missionaries, and almost all short-term missionaries, struggled with Spanish, let alone the indigenous Quechuan. The kids picked it up easier. The missionaries tended to work less with missionaries from other organisations, usually because it wasn't that necessary. There were enough people from each agency to support the mission tasks in place.

Because of the large number of missionaries in Cochabamba, these missionary services became more specialised. One American lady moved to Cochabamba simply to act as a travel agent and assistant for missionaries arriving and leaving the country, guiding them through the antiquated and corrupt airport procedures. Just within the SIM mission group there was also a full-time librarian, guest-house manager, cook, secretary/admin assistant, and so on, useful services to be sure, but really worth the incredible investment their home churches put in to support them? Keep in mind almost all the missionaries and their families survived on monthly giving from their home churches and personal supporters.

If it is possible to apply a cost:benefit ratio to the mission work undertaken by the overseas missionaries compared to the local evangelists, the local Bolivians would be far more efficient. Western missionaries have to spend substantial time learning the language and the culture. Their higher standard of living and travel costs is substantially more than for a Bolivian. And the average time spent serving in the foreign country is getting shorter and shorter. Long-term used to mean life - it now means 10 years. With a one year furlough in their home country every three years.

The missionaries at Cochabamba came from all over the world. The largest contingent were from the United States, and other representative countries were Canada, South Korea, England, Northern Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa. They brought their values with them. The missionaries from the States and Canada were used to a higher standard of living than us Kiwis were. Their houses were nicer with more toys, nice TVs, cars, and furniture. To them it would be less than they were used to in the States, but it was more than how we were living. Which in turn was more than the local Bolivian had.

I have massive respect for one New Zealand missionary who bucked these norms. His name was Kimi Aukino, from Auckland. His family and his wife were with him in Bolivia, but as time went on his kids left for schooling and his wife became blind. When we were in Bolivia, Kimi chose to work in Santa Cruz, the second largest city in Bolivia, down in the tropics. He was shocked, I remember, at the proliferation of missionaries and their support networks in Cochabamba when there were only a handful in Santa Cruz, which had over a million people. Other cities had even less and the mining town of Potosi at the time had no known missionaries there at all.

When a nation-wide SIM conference was held in Cochabamba, most missionaries from out of town stayed at the guest house with its walled compound, playground, lounge, and cooked meals. Kimi chose to stay with a friend of his, a local Bolivian who worked at Carachipampa as a cleaner. He slept on the floor of his friend's three small roomed adobe brick home.

I believe God's Spirit was powerful within Kimi, because he was incredibly humble, honest, dedicated to his calling, and was willing to give up all for the cause of Christ. And he did suffer somewhat. For example, he unintentionally ran over and killed a drunk who staggered into the busy street one night and was thrown into a Bolivian jail for a few weeks until he was allowed to be released. By the time he left the jail, he'd shared the gospel with the entire cell block, and most had accepted Jesus and become Christians.

There were other Kimi Aukinos serving God for the cause of the gospel in Bolivia who did a great job. And some mission agencies materially supported their missonaries less than others. But there were other missionaries ... I wonder about their priorities, their expectations, their reasons for entering the mission field, and the mission system they were part of in Cochabamba. I can't help but think there must be a better way. It would involve greater integration with Bolivian society, less investment in missionary infrastructure, and greater reliance on God's providence. It would involve empowering local ministers to do the mission work.

Given the growth in Bolivia's evangelical churches (as opposed to the still-dominant pantheistic Roman Catholic religion brought in by force by the Conquistadors), I wonder whether now Christian mission organisations can pat themselves on the back for their good and faithful work in Bolivia, and switch to bringing Bolivian missionaries into our secular first-world culture. We need them more than they need us, now.

The years I lived in Bolivia were incredibly formational. I went through pre-adolescence and puberty, shot up to my current height, experienced a culture and environment that was very different from my New Zealand culture, met some great people, and was saturated in an authentic Christian culture: at home, at school, at church, at play, with friends. A benefit of me experiencing Bolivia at this period of my life is that I accepted what I saw at face value. I didn't view things through the many lenses I've developed as a result of my high school and university training, reading and discussion. I can look back at my "innocent" memories and critique them with what I now know and believe.

When the world was young

2005-11-11T22:33:00.000+13:00

Let's dream of days when the world was young.
The earth shaking as the night stars sung.
Dryads dancing with druids at gloaming.
Dragons fearsome in wilds of roaming.
Time the benevolent teller of tales.
Age not racing to wither its males.
Seasons guiding the harvest of fields.
Work synchronous with agrarian yields.
Magic wielded by prayer books on ledges.
Mystery marking the horizon's edges.
Life was a battle to fight and survive.
But every day, would declare you're alive.

Add 6000 years to the world's troubled span.
Bellicose sin and death consummate man.
Time spitefully turns its hands faster and faster.
Six billion souls clamber round for disaster.
Wheels of "growth" churn out waste obscene.
Sucking creation to power the machine.
Street-lit casinos and motorway flows.
From clay we came, to concrete we go.
Pallid skin brittle with poisons of the age.
Natural beings dead in an alien cage.
God's voice turns faint as the dark clouds form.
But we'll live again, when the world is reborn.

To all those at Manurewa High ...

2005-11-11T19:18:00.000+13:00

I have deleted my earlier post about the youth gangs at Manurewa High, because I received two comments proclaiming that the stories I published were not at all representative of the school itself. That's cool - I published them because they amazed me when I heard them. I still hold they have some truth to them, but because they are only hearsay, I respect first-hand accounts refuting them.

I have lived in South Auckland, but have never been inside the grounds of Manurewa High. I respectfully withdraw my generalisations.

Why I eat Organic

2005-11-10T21:28:00.000+13:00

I like to buy food that is grown organically. Organic here means (thanks Merriam-Webster): Of, relating to, yielding, or involving the use of food produced with the use of feed or fertilizer of plant or animal origin without employment of chemically formulated fertilisers, growth stimulants, antibiotics, or pesticides. In this post "conventional" food means the opposite of the above definition (use of man-made fertilisers, pesticides etc.)

I don't mind buying conventional food, but prefer to buy organic fruit and veges, bread, milk, eggs, spreads, and other food items when I can. There are a number of reasons why I choose this, even though these foods are usually more expensive than their conventional counterparts.

I don't choose organic food because I think it tastes better simply because it's organic, or because I think it's healthier for me simply because it's organic. This may have been true in the past, but today I think New Zealand's food-growing standards are good enough to avoid pesticide residue and excess hormones in the food. And they are certainly good enough to make conventional apples taste delicious.

The main reason I like organic is because it's better for the environment where it's grown.
Organic dairy foods are produced from dairy farms that enhance their productivity by improving the structure and fertility of the soil, not by pouring on lots of fertiliser, much of which leaches into waterways and eutrophies streams and lakes. This not only destroys the natural ecology, but also reduces amenity values (like not being able to swim in the river), and means that downstream water users are limited - no drinking water supply, nor irrigation if there's too much runoff of heavy metals, pesticides and growth inhibitors from upstream farms or orchards.
Organic fruit orchards allow fruit to ripen naturally and use "natural selection", genetic improvement, and plant diversity - like mixing a different compatible plant that benefits the crop, for example marigolds to turn away insects. Conventional orchards use a number of sprays like silver and copper sprays that over time contaminate the soil so it can't be used for residential living. This is a constraint Western Bay of Plenty developers are starting to realise because of how historic market gardens were managed. Let's learn from history.
Organic vegetable gardens use biological agents like predatory insects to control pests, working with the existing ecosystem. Conventional vegetable gardens can be comparative wastelands, with beneficial and harmless insects and invertebrates killed off with pesticides. This reduces local biodiversity in favour of monoculture. It affects bird populations and other creatures in the local food web.
Put simply, organic farming is more sustainable for: long-term productive agriculture, maintenance of New Zealand's precious natural resources of soil and water, and a healthy, diverse ecosystem that keeps us healthy too.

Processed organic food, like bread is usually less "processed", meaning you get more goodness in your food and fewer additives. For example, organic flour keeps the husk and embryo, as well as the carbohydrate storage. This provides extra nutrients and fibre, and makes it more substantive and filling.

Processed organic food is usually better quality too, so it tastes better and is better for you. My organic blueberry jam is full of fruit. My organic peanut butter contains no added oils, and tastes like my mother used to make - yum! I've discovered an organic spread to replace margarine - a mix of (warning: technical words coming) naturally fractionated palm fruit oil, non hydrogenated (no trans fats) and sunflower oil (no cholesterol). For those who haven't done basic-level food tech papers at uni, the above mix is a healthy choice.

Organic food is usually, and sometimes by necessity, locally grown. Organic growers don't like using chemicals like ethylene (ethene) to make fruit ripen quickly once at market, and processed foods lack the massive lists of preservatives to keep the food looking the same for a thousand years (which also makes it harder for the body to break it down and use it!). So you support the local economy and reduce the unnecessary use of fossil fuels with associated greenhouse gas emissions to package and transport the food long distances.

Organic food from overseas like bananas and tea is more likely to be fairly traded. Because the various branches of organic practice encourage plant and animal diversity, the farmer is more likely to be able to grow a small crop to feed themselves and keep themselves healthy instead of being forced by multinationals to plant all of their land in coffee or sugarcane. If the middleman between the third world and New Zealand is wanting to market the produce as "certified organic", the growers are usually paid a fair market wage as well. Sometimes it's a requirement of certifying agencies.
Labour and OSH laws often don't exist in third world countries. So if the workers don't have to unsafely apply pesticides over time, that's got to be better for them.

Knowing all this, eating organic food gives me the additional placebo effect of feeling better about the food I eat and how it was produced.

Eating organic food is not ignoring modern farming and horticultural techniques, nor becoming a luddite or a protesting hippie, though they support organic food too! It's supporting food grown and produced the way it should be, inter-connected with the social and ecological environment rather than focusing on short term benefits and ignoring the long-term costs.

Jaime

2005-11-07T22:58:00.000+13:00

Jaime was a worker at the missionary school where I lived from 1993 to 1995. He lived in a small adobe brick house in the dusty suburban carpet between Cochabamba and Quillacollo in Bolivia. He had about five children, I think, that he had to provide for, and fixing gas boilers, building sheds and servicing engines was his forte. He lived a hard life. One child was run over in the street, another was denied good medical treatment because he was poor. But he loved Jesus, and this joy radiated out of him. He always seemed to have a beaming smile. He would go out of his way to serve others, with little thought for himself. He is one of the souls who will be given a crown laden with jewels and a thick purple robe when he enters the eternal.

This poem is dedicated to Jaime.

~

Walking back,
evocating wafts of black gold
on which the sun baked sparkling stars, pinpricks of light,
gleaned from the earth.
tired muscles hang up their robes
after drinking deep from pulsing veins.
pistons gently propel toward home;
the whole body gleaming with a job well done.
but as the solar beams outshine the lunar glow,
so the face warms the soul most of all;
the stains giving shades of light
which belie their humble origins.
The white keys play a joyful symphony;
two brown pearls display the innate essence
of the clocks without hands,
the cheer of company,
dance of grace through all senses,
the blessing of God.
The day is done.

~

A message to CCB's

2005-10-27T19:26:00.000+13:00

Re-reading it, this is a bit nasty. Maybe I'm getting too old, or too elitist. I have a very broad taste in music - but just can't stand this.

Cheesy christian band
strumming chords memorised from
cheesy christian bands
lilting lyrics lifted from a litany of other
cheesy christian bands
giving inspiration to devoted youth groupies to start more
cheesy christian bands.

And the words are frustrating.
Cute phrases, jingled in place, saying everything
yet meaning nothing.
A dream to make it big
supersedes the need to make it real.
They fall asleep at night
dreaming of the night stars swooning
at the sound of a Parachute soiree
where crowds parroting their slogans
give clergy hope for the future of their religion.

A few bar chords
a few cheap thoughts taken from Sunday school picnic choruses
hook in some riffs from a pop heathen bleat
plagarise Top 40 voices and beats
string them together - you call that a song?!
Play it on radio, sell your face to a label
Get prepubescents pleading for a picture
and your signature.
For that's what you wanted, right?
Don't drivel about giving God the glory
else you would've opened your soul
exposed the trolls and fears in your story.

Dream on if you will, cheesy Christian band.
Just stop stuffing our ears with the sickly sweet goo
you call music
and offer a square meal, creative, true
for all of the malnourished kids in the schools,
living next door
sniffing sick substances sold by Slim Shady
hawking hallucinogenic horrors from Hades
while crying inside.

Your piece of cheese ball fluff
sticks in our throats
making us choke.

So you want to be a melancholic?

2005-10-21T21:23:00.000+13:00

A melancholic disposition isn't in itself a bad thing. It has inherent weaknesses (e.g. to depression, introversion), but then other personality types (choleric, sanguine, phlegmatic) have inherent weaknesses as well. This poem expresses how I feel sometimes when melancholy covers me like a thick fur overcoat on a chill winter day. It's part of who I am.

~

So you want to be a melancholic?
Do your ears pop at the sound of minor keys
flowing tragically, syrup-like to the tongue.
Ahh ... it's bittersweet, but beautiful
a mix of wistful, fatality and angst
when you're in the molten flow, just relax
drown
die in it
let it diffuse to your veins
caress your heart
and open your eyes. The blue shadows
make all your troubles seem so clear
the glare of the silver lining is so nicely filtered.
Ahh ... she's bittersweet, but when she's got you
she spins blue smoke from her fingertips
smoothes cool sorcery spells on your chapped lips.
You wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

~

Bird appreciation day

2005-10-21T18:27:00.000+13:00

How interesting. The tui has been voted as New Zealanders' favourite native bird. It is a Forest & Bird survey (and notably that organisation does have the tui in its logo), but the NZ Herald took it up as well, which is where I found out about it. I also voted for the tui as my favourite.

The top 10 native birds are: tui (20%), stitchbird/hihi (14%), fantail (9%), kokako (8%), kea (6%), kereru (6%), kakapo (6%), grey warbler (3%), pukeko (3%), bellbird (3%).

To paraphrase Denis Glover: "And 'click'cirdaydingdongcrrkdirrpka-ka the tuis said." Congratulations Mr. Tui.

I find it interesting that the kiwi (our so-called national bird) didn't even hit the top 10 (less than 3%). Perhaps because few "kiwis" have ever seen or heard one, except maybe in an artificial nocturnal enclosure. Perhaps it is because the kiwi as an icon has been marketed to death, by any advertiser who wants to appeal to a sense of national pride. We see kiwis playing rugby, building garages, cutting internet-service-provider costs, hawking cheap child-labour goods from overseas in a big red shed (how ironic), kiwis with arms, kiwis with broad smiles, broad accents, hick clothes, and a penchant for sour cream dips. No wonder we admire instead the birds we hear and see more often in nature, that serenade us with song (tui, hihi, bellbird), surprise us with their spunk (kea, fantail, pukeko), and awe us with their beauty (kokako, kakapo, kereku). I also find it strange that while kiwis have become less and less common, soon only to be found on offshore islands and controlled "onshore islands", the kiwi image has permeated modern media, branding, and culture. We're oversaturated with kiwi paraphenalia when the real thing fades into history.

Digressing to another Forest & Bird topic, I had the privelege a week or so ago to cross paths with a man I greatly respect, whom I haven't seen for about 4 years. David Pattemore is a Conservation Officer with the Auckland branch of Forest and Bird, whom I met at Auckland Uni when he was doing his MSc on the North Island Robin, and its reintroduction to the Hunua Ranges southeast of Auckland. He is a frequent "environmentalist" media commentator on behalf of his organisation.

David's a good example of a young, eloquent, principled Christian man who also cares about the environment and New Zealand's natural heritage, and the plight of the poor in places like SE Asia where he grew up. After the tsunami he went back to those communities to help them rebuild. He also studied how communities that had looked after their coastal environment suffered less - one example is because the protected sand dunes buffered the wave's force. It's uncommon to find people rate both the environment, social justice, and Christian faith highly. I include my grandmother, mother and myself in that group.

I hope to catch up with him sometime in the future to have a good chat about his experiences.

Esperanza

2005-10-14T23:49:00.000+13:00

I've been listening to a great CD by Manu Chao, called Esperanza. It has a crazy, fun, latin/reggae sound, with English, Spanish and Portuguese lyrics all mixed in together. I love it - it's so different from typical NZ radio music, and reminds me that there's a myriad of creative music variety out there to discover and enjoy.

Suicide

2005-10-14T22:00:00.000+13:00

I hope I don't offend anyone by this, my apologies if I do.

According to some people, "suicide" should not even be mentioned because it makes depressed people consider it as a viable option. I heard a song on the radio this morning pleading "not to let go". I thought - do people even listen to such songs if they are suicidal? Probably not.

Kim Hill recently interviewed a man who was on a speaking tour through Otago University, espousing the teachings of Carl Jung. He became a Jungian after interviewing those few who jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco and survived. Amazingly, almost all of them went through a reincarnation-like experience, where their "self" was put to death and they could live a new life. One said (paraphrased) "The second after I jumped, I realised there was nothing in the world so overpowering that I couldn't overcome it - except, the fact that I'd just jumped off a very tall bridge." For these people, their depression and suicidal nature disappeared with that act of complete abandonment. After surviving, they began to live for others, giving their time and money for free to charities and focusing on people over things.

The psychologist on Kim Hill's show concluded that when people commit suicide, it is their selves they want to destroy, but mistakenly think they must kill both body and soul to do so. He believed instead that through Jungian psychoanalysis, people could put to death their "self", and live free, more fulfilling lives.

I couldn't help of think instead of Jesus's teaching: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it." Surely that's a better way to go about it, instead of either psychoanalysis or suicide.

When a friend of mine committed suicide, the whole experience made me understand better why it's not a good move. I wrote down some reasons below to anyone who may be thinking about suicide, in the hope it may encourage a rethink.

1. You affect more people than you realise. Many will mourn you if you go, far more than you think, and they will suffer from it.

2. People love you. It doesn't matter if you think you're a loser, better off dead, whatever. They don't care if you think that! They love you No Matter What. Seriously.

3. If you throw in the towel, you miss the opportunity to turn your low self-image and rejection into becoming a humble slave for God, forsaking all the world offers. You'll find this so much easier than others, and will be rewarded when you enter God's kingdom.

4. Understand that some of your feelings and thoughts come from demonic attacks. It may be easier to listen to them and feel perversely good about it, but ignore these feelings. They want nothing but evil, they hate you and want to destroy you and the good in you. For God's sake, you must fight, turn all your attention to God and his kingdom, and totally away from yourself. This may be unpalatable but it is necessary.

5. I'd like to say that there is hope, but there may not be much hope for you in this life, but does that mean you should exit the world of the living? No. You aren't the only one who struggles, cries, and wishes to die. You can help those who are even lesser than you. You are required to glorify God through your shame. It is your duty to a God who is more important, and deserves more attention than you.

6. Better times do exist. Love, joy and happiness are as much a part of your world as self-hate, fear and sorrow. They may be few and far between for you - or they may be plentiful. Your choices may be bound with a shut-off, let-down future - or you may find freedom beyond, or in spite of, that. If you die, you are removing the chance that the latter may happen. And you can increase your chances by seeking after what is good, and improving yourself. It may not work, but the chances become greater that it will. Relish that.

7. We are bonded to God, one and all, great and small. His life in us is priceless, no matter if we're a geriatric, a famous movie star, an Olympic athelete, a nerd with glasses, or an unborn child. This worth is determined purely as human life, not how good it is. All the people telling you otherwise are lying, as they want to artificially elevate themselves before they too are brought low before the Eternal Judge.

8. Though you may give up on yourself, don't use that as an excuse to not let God use you in small ways, and others to learn from you. Others have not given up on you yet, why rob them of their faith in you?

9. It's a selfish choice. Yes, it is your choice and yes, it is an easier option. But yes, that's why the world is so awful. Yes, that's why we wallow in sin. So if you exhibit this final selfish act, you leave the world in a worse way simply because of that.

Suicide may become a tempting option in times of depression, low self-worth or great trauma and upsets. However I've yet to hear of a situation where it's the best option to take.

The Only Thing

2005-10-14T20:59:00.000+13:00

Occasionally, I sit down and write. Straight from the brain to the pen. No revisions or corrections. It's not poetry, it's more stream-of-consciousness that takes a picture of my soul at a point in time. The piece below reminds me how important it is to hang onto the fundamentals like a tree trunk when all else is a swollen river to whisk me away.

~

My body has a leak.
A little hole, at the bottom of my left heel
is slowly dripping my youth away.
My mind, no longer embalmed in youth,
thinks adult thoughts, becoming more and more horrified by the world.
I am still young, I am still strong.
But soon the leak will drain the youth in my limbs
down to a critical level.

Have I used my youth well? No.
Too much TV, too much reading of books.
Not enought experiences and adventures
Regret is a familiar companion
I have learned to live with him.

I am resigned.
I cannot plug the leak.
Youth will subside, and old age will come.
Unwelcome, like a bawdy neighbour who won't leave
and eventually moves in
and as the years go on becomes closer and closer until you are inseperable.
Two things I am sure of:
I will grow old
I will die.
And after then - will my writings live on?
and my hope. May it be borne to fruition.
That youth may be eternal. However that works.

The more we learn, the more we realise what we don't know.
So I was born knowing everything, and will leave knowing nothing.
And my life will be a failure, for what has it accomplished?
Mankind continues to play dice with chaos.

Ah, what a world!
Where babies die
and marriages break up
and people starve in their millions
and people imprison and torture each other
and the wealthy take even the clothes and homes of the poor.
When will the bruised earth, clogged with pollutants, blood and sin
scream "ENOUGH!"
and mankind once again crumbles into dust.

Love exists to dissolve away
Promises exist to be broken
Beauty exists as food for the ugly
and laughter to hold back the tears.

The only thing.
The only thing solid in a world of shadows
is that a man called Jesus did nothing wrong
and was crucified on a cross. For us, so it is said.
And he came back to life
and so out of death came a hope.
Surprised, elated, and full of thankfulness
the hope burst up through the darkness
and exploded into a cataclysm of light, sound, melody, joy.
The worms of the ground looked up, amazed.
Some took the hope into their failing hearts
that what this Jesus had just done
could also happen to us.
This is the only thing worth believing in.
The only thing.

~

God Loves You

2005-10-09T13:28:00.000+13:00

It's reassuring that God's love for me is not dependent on my circumstances, or how I may feel at the time.

~

arise to sunlight splashing over your face
absorb a landscape of art in one gasp
serve cups of hot milo to your tramping mates
extend your chilled feet to the sun's blast
can you feel it?
do you know it?
God loves you.

wake to bleep blasting weak sleep to flight
stare the powdered milk down and chew cereal
tense as the tepid shower washes your white
bike into the grey wind and the surreal
you may not feel it,
but do you know it?
God loves you.

~

New philosophical quandraries

2005-10-08T14:50:00.000+13:00

"There is nothing new under the sun", so the Ecclesiastes quote goes. The question is, as a workmate aptly put it, "under which sun?" You'd think philosophy and religion would become easier, as humankind learns more and more. We are, after all, "standing on the shoulders of giants", learned men and women of the past. The problem is, the higher we go, the further we can see. The more we learn, the more we do not understand. Here's some modern questions that trouble me, for which I can find no solace in the ancients. Many are prompted by media stories, scientific research, movies and books I've read.

Do human clones (it's only a matter of time) have a unique soul? Or are they merely a walking, breathing hologram (spiritually speaking) of another person?
How distinct is the brain's function: memory, sensory, emotions, cogniscance, motor commands etc. from who we are as a person? Is there a separate "me" and "you" that could survive separate from our bodies and brains? Could our brain's electrical components and signals recorded onto computers theoretically transfer our essence into a machine?
God has so far stepped back and let us horribly misuse our instruction to "fill the earth and subdue it" (Gen 1:28). That instruction was appropriate for all of history until 1900 AD when population began to spiral out of control. Now overpopulation is rampant, natural resources like water and soils have reached or are reaching their limit, and the "tragedy of the commons" is commonplace, perhaps it's time for a new instruction from God?
Would God save us from a complete global catastrophe that would extinguish human existence? For example a global nuclear war, dramatic climate change as a result of global warming, an asteroid striking earth, an alien attack?
How much do Old Testament rules apply to us 2000 years later? Sure, we live by grace, but for grace to exist there must be forgiveness for something wrong. While most of us accept that "right" and "wrong" exist, how much is written in the bible and how much is determined by societal norms? For example, Christians see the 10 Commandments as important determinants of right and wrong. Yet the Sabbath is held in disregard by most of them, including myself. Levitical laws are dismissed as "just for that time", but they are often used to justify condemnation of sexual deviance (note: I'm not condoning deviances!)
Is there any requirement aside from pride and a sense of place that requires New Zealanders to maintain a British/western culture and traditions and exclude other nationalities? Does God give a care?
Are the Apostle Paul's comments that governments are established by God still applicable to New Zealand's democratically elected Government? Many people think so. If so, does God manipulate people's free will to his own purposes?

May add some more questions as they come to mind.

The game of life

2005-10-05T20:45:00.000+13:00

The game of life
spin the dice, smile as they give
two sixes
one more turn.

We play around with people's hearts
intricate creations rush headlong and collide
Like blind and mute strangers making love
Like a five year old trying to drive.
The stakes are so high
We can't see the tips.

We pull open the Punch and Judy show
field our words to imply more than worth
Tragic figures when the show is a farce
Over-pouring wine into glasses of mirth.
Ad-libbing our lines
hoping not to stuff up.

We stare blankly into a consequential future
our next footstep hazy in an unclear shoal
Behind is floodlit by hindsight analysis
Beyond is pitch black as Westport coal.
Do we turn or go straight?
We cannot stay still.

The game of life
gather up the courage
and spin the dice
once more.

Russell Judd

2005-09-29T21:51:00.000+12:00

I met an interesting character last night, after a work meeting. His name is Russell Judd. Russell seems to be a consummate politician. The NZ Herald gave him a paragraph within the article: The candidates who stand to lose: "Already a Rotorua District councillor, Russell Judd is a young man in a hurry. Young, appealing, articulate and with just the right balance of conservatism. Just a shame he is number 11 on the United Future list. National, take note." Russell stood for United Future in the Rotorua seat this election, and seemed to do reasonably well (although didn't win).

I'm writing about him here because while discussing with me the merits of race-based seats (or "separatist seats" as he calls them), he impressed me with a full suite of characteristics that a good politician should have. He had full and complete confidence in himself "If only the electorate understood better how MMP works, I would have got in". He was convinced about the truth of his arguments "The country didn't debate the real issues United Future raised, but got dragged down with the mudslinging", and his arguments were fluent and persuasive, enough to start challenging what I thought "Why should Maori be represented separately when the issues the representatives deal with, like sewage, roads, development rights, are common to everyone?" And he is willing to compromise to further his own political ambitions "I believe in virtually everything United Future stands for, but to stand for Rotorua and get elected, I may have to stand for National. This would require me to compromise on a few things." Plus he's young and good looking.

While Russell admits politics is still "a bit of a hobby", expensive and hindering his private career, I wouldn't be surprised to see him on the national stage in some political guise in the future.

Often in my regional council job, staff do not respect the politician's role in decision making. We joke about their personal traits, deride their incompetence, and sometimes challenge (in private) the decisions they make. But to be a successful politician does take a special sort of person. Confident yet endearing, a leader and a listener, a power-player but also a "man of the people", one-eyed but a skilled word-manipulator to draw people into supporting his views. He must believe absolutely in the importance of his mission. And charisma helps too. So while I may never vote for Russell, I respect his developing talents as a politician. Like TV celebrities, I think politicians are denigrated more than they should be.

To look inside ...

2005-09-28T22:15:00.000+12:00

Occasionally I meet someone who is so interesting and yet seems to have so much more going on inside - which makes them even more interesting and mysterious to me. I long to get intimate with them in an intellectual way - an intimacy that plumbs the depths of who they really are, but requires no "show & tell" of myself in return. In real life this can never happen, of course. I must permit people to guard their inner selves, to be revealed in part on their terms. And I must be content with the mystery.

I meet your eyes with mine
I peel off the layers through the stare
to expose your bare thoughts to the glare
of the neurons in my spine.

My curiosity's insatiable
I crave the contents of your inside
to taste morsels of your inner desires
set out on your heart's table.

My neural vertebrae drills
powered by fascinated tones
It squeals as metal enters bone
shovelling into your skull.

I plug into your Matrix
cavernous mazes with dragons await
to explore needs more than luck and fate
so I am propelled backwards.

My greed seduces secrets
that would tear my soul if I tried to swallow
Though mystery tempts me onwards to follow
wisdom and tact order a retreat.

~

Why Whakatane is alright

2005-09-24T18:59:00.000+12:00

For those who haven't picked it up, I live in a little town in the eastern Bay of Plenty called Whakatane. I've lived here coming up two years, and still think it's pretty splendid. Especially after such a nice day like today. Here's 33 reasons why:

It has the highest amount of sunshine in the North Island.
It takes less than 15 minutes to cycle anywhere in the town.
The Bean - a cafe that brews the best coffee I've tasted (even though I'm not usually a coffee drinker).
Crisp, blue days right through winter.
The town doesn't get the extremes of cold or hot temperatures.
Being able to swim in the river flowing around the town.
The deck on the third storey at my work has the most amazing view - overlooking the estuary and spit, and the Kohi Bluff.
Ohope Beach
Ohiwa Harbour, and all the cool little sandbars and islands in it.
Fresh fish from the ocean (most often from fisher-friends!)
A supportive group of local churches.
A bustling little shopping centre, with locally owned and operated shops - and NO MALLS!
Landmarks scattered througout: Wairakei Rock, the Pine in the centre of town, the waterfall, Kohi Point, etc.
Gym membership for $100 a year.
Easygoing, relaxed, friendly people.
A rich Maori colonial history, and many self-supporting Maori initiatives in the town.
No traffic.
No traffic lights.
No parking meters (except on one small side-street).
Great local theatre, and semi-regular arts, music & culture tours and themed weeks (jazz festival, Shakespeare in the Park, art & sculpture events, etc.) that pass through.
One national park and two forest parks close by.
Not too isolated - 1 hr to Rotorua & Tauranga, 3 hrs to Auckland & Ruapehu.
Rich soils that grow me fresh fruit (and veges, once I get around to it).
Coastal and bush walkways with great scenery.
A thriving multisport/triathlon/outdoor sports community - heaps of incredibly fit people who put me to shame, but encourage me to take part as well.
Coastlands beach, up to Thornton & Matata.
5 (and maybe more) local radio stations playing different genres - the generic nationwide stations (91ZM, The Edge, The Rock) seem not to have discovered the eastern Bay of Plenty yet.
A minimum of commercial billboards cluttering the viewspace like in the cities.
The Rotorua Lakes close by, especially Rotoma 1/2 an hour away.
Natural disasters: earthquakes, landslips, floods, volcanic eruptions, tornadoes - we get them all! Which is kind of exciting.
No ugly clone suburban sprawl (yet) like nearby Tauranga.
Amazing sunsets: from interesting high cloud patterns forming with the onshore evening breeze and the Rangitaiki Plains stretching out to the west - allowing you to view the sunset panorama.
You almost always bump into someone you know when walking through town.

There's some things I like less about the place, one being that most people my age seem to desert the place for varsity and the big cities - and return to start their families. But I'll keep this list positive.

The warrior, the lover, the voyager

2005-09-23T21:34:00.000+12:00

On the way home from a boys camp in the bush, I was travelling in a beat-up white van with five boys aged 7 to 10, and another leader. We hadn't travelled far down the road leading out of Minginui back to Whakatane, when one of the boys said, "Andrew, tell us a story". I thought, "it's a long way home, I'll tell them a long-ish story - like ones I used to write at their age, that went all over the place but eventually tied together nicely. So I told them a story that started with us in the van spashing through a puddle, but the puddle was very deep, the van veered sideways and smashed through the railings of the bridge into the swollen muddy river below. From there we had amazing adventures, fighting off anacondas and crocodiles on a raft down the Rangitaiki, getting lost in the bush, overcome by poisonous forget-me-nots, separating into two separate adventures then joining back together again a few times, being kidnapped by dreadlocked tattooed reggae-loving truck drivers, uncovering a covert industry in Kawerau to build a massive robot behind the timber mill, and heaps of other episodes, until eventually ending with the army bringing in choppers launching missiles and bombs in the night sky, and the kids dropped off safely at the church to be hugged by their worried mums! And sharing our scars and souvenirs at the next Iconz club night.

One boy actually wanted to have aliens from Mars in the story, so I added them in at the end - the aliens visited the mums and gave them visual images of the boys so they knew we were still alive and ok. Each of the boys wanted to have a turn at being the hero - getting the team out of a difficult situation, like swinging the others to a safe ledge on the cliff, or sneaking keys to unlock our chains when we were slave labour. And if they hadn't had a starring role for a while, their faces grew even more and more expectant until they had an action role again.

The interesting thing was, talking to the parents of some of the boys a few days later, when the parents asked the boys what their favourite part of the camp was, they said "Andrew's story"! Okay, the camp wasn't that exciting, though we tried to make it fun. And it did rain a fair bit out there which limited what we could do. But in hindsight, I don't think I was such a great storyteller that I enraptured them to a new level of enjoyment. Instead I remembered a posit from a book some of my friends rate highly.

The book is called "Wild At Heart", by John Eldredge. I've skimread some of it, (therefore I'm entitled to criticise it in intimate detail) and though there are some theories in the book I disagree with, I liked one specifically (which means it's one of the few I can still remember). Here I will blatantly paraphrase John Eldredge: he states that every boy (hence every man) needs a battle to fight, a woman to rescue, and an adventure to roam. I agree that inherent in masculinity is a desire for each of these things. Some men have greater measures of one than another, for example, one may thrive on warfare and competition but discards emotions. Another may be a suave lover and romantic, but is less concerned with the unknown and uncharted. But all three are in there.

And that's what the story I told in that van awoke in those boys. They got to fight battles and have amazing adventures (I skipped out the girls but could easily have added them in) that they will (most likely) never otherwise have. Especially in modern-day New Zealand. There are still opportunities to fight battles, woo women and have amazing adventures in New Zealand but they require either a very imaginative kid who can dream up innovative adventures that society won't recoil from, or a father who will lead his son into them. Sadly, both of these are uncommon. This is partly the reason why some teens are wooed into gangs, why speed, sex and competition are so attractive to men, why movies like the Matrix are incredibly popular, and why some men feel castrated by the modern societal expectation of males.

Note that I said "some". Every person is different, and it is unwise to generalise. Which is where John Eldredge becomes unstuck - he applies his sports-mad, testosterone-laden, one-eyed Americanism view of manhood to men in general, and even to God. He also generalises similar causes (lack of masculine activity, desire for approval from fellow males) for homosexuality, which I think is far too limiting. Regardless, I can see the truth of the warrior/lover/voyager mix inside males. I think girls listening to my van story would've found it far too gung-ho and would've preferred some feminine elements. "Feminine" does not - necessarily - equal soft, by the way! It would be interesting to hear from a woman what she thinks those feminine elements could be.

So how can I indulge the warrior, the lover, and the voyager inside me? The warrior part has always needed a good stoking - I'm far too pacifistic for my own good. The romantic side has been successively slaughtered every time it tries to resurface, so much so that I foresee if it ever is fulfilled it will be a bloody, pulpy mess - and even with healing it can never return to the pure romantic ideals of my childhood. The passion for voyaging has dulled with the requirements of 40 hour/week office jobs, and adulthood in general. But on the bright side I do live in a beautiful part of the country that lends itself well to adventures, especially outdoor ones.

Regardless, it is worthwhile keeping the warrior, the lover and the voyager alive inside of me, feeding, trialling and delighting in them every once in a while, so when I ever need to use one of those aspects, when fate instances, they can lead me onward into an awesome adventure.

Lois Wharton

2005-09-21T14:51:00.000+12:00

My Nana was born in Wellington on 8 September 1927 as Lois Winifred Winter. After kindergarten, her parents (my great-grandparents) bought a piece of land in the Waikato, a farm called Whitehall. She grew up in a world that seems very different to today. There were no locks on doors, and neighbours shared what they had in order to get by. She rode to a small rural one-classroom primary school on a pony by herself (imagine that today). The farmers were salt-of-the-earth types who worked hard to clear the land of ragwort and blackberry, building a homestead and family that would shelter and support their children - well, those farming characteristics haven't changed much. They went through a lot of hardships. The depression meant they couldn't get a loan to build a house. They had to grow most of their own food. No electricity or plumbing! Having to trap rabbits for two years to get a train fare to Wellington. Their house burning down and having to start afresh. My Great-grandfather and Nana have recorded tons of amazing stories of them and their predecessors for posterity, and it's great to have such a pioneering family history.

Nana moved to Raglan to teach primers, and met my Grandpa (John Wharton) there. After she got engaged she taught at last-frontier Pureora for a short while - "the last place to be settled by Europeans". Grandpa joined her there working as a carpenter. Then Grandpa's boss decided to move to Stratford. He heard the altitude there made breathing easier! So Nana and Grandpa moved there too and started their family - 4 boys (including my father) and a girl. One of Grandpa's jobs was to help build the homestead on AgriChristian's farm! My Aunty Brenda also knows that farm well, having gone out with a young farmer working at Tutukaka.

A few memories of visiting their Stratford farm: The long journey through the night from Masterton. The humming of the two big deep-freezes full of meat and food. The cold outside! Nana's bowls of steaming hot porridge. Walks through the local bush reserve. The huge vege garden. The collection of Dr Seuss books!

Sadly my Nana & Grandpa split up when I was young. But something I admire about Nana was her committment to Stratford and her friends. She stayed in Stratford, in a new home built by my uncle. She transformed an ugly gully backyard into a garden teeming with flowers, native trees and meandering paths. She supported her church, and the wide range of old, retired people around her. She was always positive about Stratford, helped out in the community and won a Citizen's Award this year.

Nana's been beset by cancer this year, and recently her doctor told her that despite some chemotherapy, the cancer has spread through her body and brain. She does not have much longer to live. I am sad that soon we will not see her again in this dimension, but at the same time I am grateful for the life she's completing, her positivity, service, and example she set to us.

I'm honoured to be her grandson, and I'm proud to have the history and geneaology that Nana and her family wrought out here in New Zealand.

Within the Walls

2005-09-09T18:36:00.000+12:00

Poem time again. This one's been released before, but I still like it so I'm gonna post it. It criticises churches that are inward-focused and not reaching out to others. The uncomfortable bit for me is that I am guilty of this myself. I am most comfortable when "within the walls", in a sheltered christian community. Deep down, I feel dislocated when I'm with people without Spirit. Eventually I believe we will live safely, freely and joyously within the walls of God's Kingdom. But at the moment we don't. The walled compound does not exist (except in our imaginations). It is perceived only. We are situated smack bang in the middle of the enemy's war zone. And any attempt to hide behind walls, play-acting like the toxic-ridden wasteland outside doesn't exist, is less than naive - it is foolish.

~

Within the walls the party goes on
the blessing, like shiny confetti, comes down.
"Give us joy!" we pray. "O Lord, give us love,
so we can show others the life from above."
But the doors are shut, we like them that way
"God, love the needy, but on our terms," we say.

Out in the world, we gather around
in Christian circles, the lingo abounds.
Nicely hemmed in by the God-fearing wall,
we feel secure from the dirt, from the gall.
Our clothes are clean, we like them that way
"We don't want the world's filth to taint us," we say.

T-shirts, bumper stickers, Christian sub-culture
Christ's Business Directory, kids' moral borders.
Our own little world, circling the Son,
God's love we crave, the rest we shun.
Our Christian society, we like it that way
"Pledge of allegiance before entry" we say.

A picture of Jesus on the Sunday School wall
angelic and white, handsome and tall.
Pure baby skin and blue caring eyes,
clothed in soft linen, with a gentle smile.
That's our kind of Jesus, we like him that way
"That image we can worship at church" we say.

All of a sudden, the doors flew wide
We noticed it, but we stayed inside.
A dirty old beggar came in one day
He was ignored, then told not to say.
A man who looked nasty came in off the streets
Some nervously sang, others called the police
A prostitute sailed in, half drunk as well
A black and blue mother began ringing the bell
Some dubious youths, cursing high heaven
A rabid old woman, coughing up phlegm
Mongrel mob members, yuppies with phones
"God!" we cried. "Won't they leave us alone?!"
"You're our Lord," we said, "not of this pell-mell!
This lot don't want you - they can all go to hell!"

"I am your God, yes that much is true.
But I am the God for all of these too.
I am the God of the naked, the old,
the abused, the wretched, the violent, the cold,
the orphan, the suffering, the dying, the Jew,
the God of the needy - people like you."

"Leave your walls, your fortressed towns
Else one day I will raze them down.
My son is your example; with dirt on his hands
he loved the unlovely, he followed my command.
Study my word and do what it says
not how you want it - but live it anyway."

~

Catch-ups

2005-09-05T21:03:00.000+12:00

This Friday just gone I comandeered the silver bullet (my car) to Wellington to visit my mum, dad, sister, brother & grandmother, then on Saturday drove to Palmerston North (motto: Windmills are Wonderful) to catch up with friends and two sets of aunts & uncles up there. Saturday night was a 5-year hostel reunion at the Lone Star restaurant/bar on the Square. I lived in the Baptist Youth Hostel in 2000.

Reunions are strange beasts. They are a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. Trying to recapture and remember the old days like following a sweet smell wafting across a field before it dissapates in the breeze. And interest in how your hostel fellows have ended up [that's her fiance? he's a good catch] where they've gone [Peru? how very interesting] who they've become [hold up, is her partner a woman?].

It was very un-hostel though. Over those 5 years we've all grown up and gone our separate ways. Some people I was overjoyed to see again, others it was a pleasure to see again, and others I wouldn't care if I never saw them for the rest of my time. With the first we share jokes and stories, the second we politely ask after their employment, habitation and beaus, the third we paint smiles and exchange the barest of pleasantries. I won't say who was in each group though! But in all, I realised that simply to see them was enough. We weren't going to rebuild friendships that didn't already exist, nor re-start any sort of relationship with each other. But just to see them "live" after these years was reassurance that these people still exist in my world. They aren't just fading memories, but I did live with them, laugh with them, and shared some really good times with them. It was a good chapter in my life - one of the best. So good that five years on I flip back some pages, go to a noisy Lone Star restaurant and revisit some of the protagonists in Section: Massey, Act: 2000, Scene: BYH, Palmerston North.

Marilyn & Owen, our hostel matron & patron, came along too, and it was great to see them with their great sense of humour and love for their ex-hostel children. They are two very special people and I hope to keep seeing them.

On Sunday I caught up with my good mates Allan of Agri-Christian fame, Phil the Spud, Aimee Cringle, Maria Foxley, Abi Foxley, and a host of aquaintances from CCC. We had a BBQ at Memorial Park and a great yarn, before I reluctantly sped back through the night to Whakatane. I realise how much I miss them when up here. Next weekend is Auckland to catch up with another group of mates worth their weight in gold: Mike Goddard, Steve & Ancy Morris, Christine Millmine, Matty Fraser, Allan again, and hopefully some of the Auckland locals too.

On a sadder note my dad is not too well. He has weak vertebrae, gets tired easily and is acting older than ideal for his age. Get better soon Dad, and God, if you can find it within your sovereign will, please inject some youth into his aching bones.

Asians

2005-08-21T21:38:00.000+12:00

I was thinking about the different asian groups here in New Zealand, and how non-asian New Zealanders are (in general) still not at all comfortable with asian people groups living here. Especially not if they network only with themselves, speak with asian accents and keep their own cultural quirks. Winston Peters takes advantage of this unsettled-ness for political gain and it works! Because while at a personal level there's often no problem with befriending an asian, at a cultural and political level many people seem to squirm, deep down if not openly.

When up Mt Ruapehu today with some 11 and 12 year old boys for a snow camp, the boys passed a group of asian skiiers speaking in their language. The natural reaction for some of the boys was to mock the accent - it being so different to ours and the language incomprehensible to us. Oddly, this is not the case for other foreigners. I believe the way for kiwis to become more comfortable with the presence of asian cultures here is to get to know some of them and to work, play, and share stories with them. New asian immigrants should be willing to do the same and not just stay in their comfort zones with their own people. Otherwise the gap between asian and other cultures here will continue to spread. Us and Them. The following paints different perspectives I've seen from people in New Zealand who struggle to relate to asians in "their" country and their lives. I don't think it can technically be called a poem; it's just the way it came out.
~
part one
the foot of a man
sinking into virgin sand
rangatira over the grains spilling over his toes.

part two
a velveteen foot crushing the footprints
skin too delicate to tread the ground
pride the weapon to subdue the land.

part three
there is a part three?

~

Quietly grazing sheep cease their munching
to look up over the seas;
The gargantuan continent is smothered with a dragon
Nations, cultures, breeding like bacteria, consuming resources,
colonies sprouting towers of steel and glass like a pimple-ridden adolescent.
But all petri dishes turn putrid when abused
and persecuted spores and lifestyle spores are
floating towards our green pastures.

Did someone say biosecurity?

~

There's a new wrinkle for the kaumatua
to place on his brow, by the pohutukawa.
Damn, we thought this pakeha partnership was a done deal.
But here's this yellow face on my doorstep
flashing me dollar bills to buy my soul first, then my fisheries.
We haven't made a treaty with these people.
I feel threatened, my mana being painted over by a thousand flashes of a thousand cameras and videocams, wielded by a thousand grinning slit eyes
who can't speak our dual heritage.

Kumara or flied lice, what'll it be today, Mr. Jones?

~

Say the word with disdain
into a cold beer over a barbie
but don't look over your back fence
or meet your daughter's new friend
ignorance protects paranoia from infiltrating your thinking.

~

Ching Chang Chong Chung
How're you settling in, son?
Getting all the answers right
Being the teacher's pet
The name calling screwing you tight?
You ain't seen nothing yet.
We don't like quiet fellas
Bet your cellphone's ripe to take
Give one last hug to your mother
We'll smash you in lunch break.

~

Frayed connections with a wounded world

2005-08-16T21:24:00.000+12:00

I'm privileged to live in one of the most beautiful locations in New Zealand. Last Saturday I woke to a stunner of a day - warm, sunny and not a cloud in the sky. I took my breakfast out to my concrete pad, where sunbeams massaged my back and murmured energy and anticipation into my spine. I decided to head out to Ohope beach's West End with a bodyboard to check out the waves. The waves were pretty small, so instead I took off my shoes, sprinted across the sands and back again, then took a track through moist bush to a wooden bench high overlooking the beach, Ohiwa, and right out to the East Cape. As the humus and mud squelched through my toes, I looked out on the swells ever building towards the beach. And I felt more alive than I had for the past three months.

I once read about a NASA experiment where twenty or so people were placed in an artificial environment. Lightbulbs, dietary supplements, exercise equipment, air and water that machines recycled back into the dome. The idea was to see how humans would survive in a contained man-made biosphere in case one was ever built on mars or another planet to live in. The experiment lasted much less time than anyone predicted. After a few weeks, the inhabitants began to short-circuit and suffer from a whole range of illnesses - respiratory, cardiovascular, mental, and other conditions. Within a month the experiment was cut short and the participants removed for recovery. Scientists surmised that we must rely on the life-giving services of nature more than we currently understand.

I think it's even more than that. Genesis and other places in the Bible imply that God created man using the
elements already in creation - "from the dust of the ground." He also breathed into man's nostrils the breath of life. Thus we have two ties: a physical one to the created earth and natural world, and a spiritual one to God's spirit. The latter is often emphasised by Christians, but not the former.

Mankind has a duty to look after the world that God entrusted to us. Not just because it is unique and amazing, but because we are a part of it, and our well-being is interconnected the health of the earth. Like ol' Captain Planet who lost his powers when sprayed with pollution! The loss of the ozone layer gives us skin cancer and damages plant cells. Smoke from deforestation and vehicle emissions clog our lungs. Less than half of the world's population has potable drinking water. Industrial discharges maim our nervous system. Erosion, reclamation and salinisation remove our food sources. And our destruction of natural environments severs an as yet unquantified soul tie between ourselves and creation.

I work for the Bay of Plenty Regional Council, which manages the region's natural resources like soil, water, air, coast. Despite the council's best intentions, we are at best mediators between developers and environmentalists, at average just slowing the inexorable degradation of the natural environment, and at worst merely fiddling while Rome burns. The natural world is pretty much screwed, and we aim to preserve the remnant, the shadow of what's left. No, preserve is too strong a word. Steward the remainder until the greed machine consumes that too, eventually.

Some Christian thought would say - "why bother, we're all going to die and go to heaven and leave this earth to burn. It may be worth considering future generations (sustainability) but other than that the world's going to sink under our sin as we float away." I disagree with that worldview. I believe that God will re-create the earth to its amazing beauty, and us along with it. Mankind's bond with creation renewed and strengthened. New bodies to enjoy a new world so real it makes this one look and feel like a shadowland - what a hope! Not for me the floating ethereal suspense-of-being somewhere up in the clouds strumming a harp. Why is this the dominant image of the "good" afterlife? Perhaps it was taken from literature sometime in the past.

The apostle Paul writes "For creation was subject to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God." Isaiah prophesised "Behold, I will create a new heaven and a new earth" and outlined this vision in Ch 65 verses 17 to 25. There is lots of symbolism in this passage, especially of a restored world with God as King. While I'm loath to take literally the apocryphal symbols of Revelation's Chapter 21, it has the undeniable vision of going back to Genesis, the creation of the world, where a new earth and heavens are re-born. I confess I've also been heavily influenced by C.S. Lewis's views about this life and the next.

Oh, and after my coastline view I did jump in my wetsuit and spend a few hours in the waves at West End - and a workmate out there offered me his longboard! Bring on summer. And bring on the end of time when all is judged, the chaff is laid waste, and creation is re-booted.

Irony

2005-08-12T21:33:00.000+12:00

I wrote the following poem a little while ago now. It's good to re-think about past posts, and whether the observations still apply. The last stanza caught my attention. I like chasing rainbows around, I like to dream occasionally and I think it's healthy. But my mired feet always bring me back. And the higher I fly, the harder I eventually fall.

The "Gilead balm", for those who haven't heard this old song, is a metaphor for Jesus. While I do believe being a Christian has un-shadowed my eyes, it is probably relative. The more you see, the more you realise you cannot see. Like a child who knows everything in his little world, who grows up and knows more, but in that growing realises the world is much bigger than he knew. The challenge is to keep growing, and keep seeing.

The emperor sits in his well-bottomed chair
The lard of the land lies stacked in his lair
Gleaned from the fingers of weary Thai dopes
Purchased by rich fools with phlegm down their throats.

A bitter Afghani collapses in sand
His world-righting dream is not going as planned
Where is his army, destroying the infidels?
Bombed by self-righteous, all-vengeful pimpernels.

The self-styled TV stars pose at their desk
Reciting the pop news, ignoring the rest
Millions are sweating their blood tears in anguish
But who cares, as long as the ratings don't languish.

A battle-ruined rugby-head stares into space
While tenderly coaxing tired muscles in place
The ten years of herodom crash into oblivion
As four million fat fans demand a new minion.

An unfulfilled man with his head on the floor
Weeping 'cos love has not knocked on his door
Fearing the nightmare that he will become
Withered, sadistic, with a jealous scrotum.

The loser delinquent lights up a dead fag
Desperately trying to curse his old man
Spitting on wisdom while smashing Hell's door
A meal of mad flesh for demons to gorge.

Delusional minds chasing rainbows around
Oblivious feet staying mired in the ground
The Gilead balm can make shadowed eyes see
But the public prefer to suck blind irony.

The death of a church

2005-08-07T18:04:00.000+12:00

Tawa New Life Church in Wellington is trudging through what’s euphemistically termed “a rough patch”. My parents and little brother are still loyal members of this church; my sister and I also were for a few years. My Dad took a missions trip with the church, and the church supported us when we were overseas.

The church is slowly shrivelling. Disaffection with leadership structures, Wellington church-growth strategies, people believing they can get a better deal elsewhere (like a computer store), and I’m sure plenty of other causes are all contributing to the decline. Church management is now forced to rent out part of the church building, half the people attending are in the “music team”, and as wealthy families leave with their tithes there is not enough income to pay for a full-time pastor let alone much else.

There are many casualties, from my perspective on the other side of the island. Friends and acquaintances go separate ways, sometimes amicably sometimes not. People’s enthusiasm sinks as they give many hours and efforts to turn the church around, when deep down they can see it collapsing like a sandcastle in the rising tide. And how must the pastor feel? Watching the church he’s poured his life into slowly become untenable.

Should this be happening? Surely not. Surely there are sufficient unsaved souls around to shepherd into the pews. Yet this is another piece of evidence showing that the world is not what I thought it was when I was young. So I must change my theories.

I wonder whether a christian church is similar to an individual person. It is born with much hope and visions for the future. It grows and expands with energy and the Holy Spirit, and imitates its parents (i.e. founding church or apostle) and environment (i.e. the neighbourhood and people in attendance). It may achieve great things, or it may be faithful in the small. But sooner or later, health complications start to creep in. Lethargy, dour attitudes, a covert rebellion beginning its cancerous spread, or a sudden heart attack (like a minister’s sexual dalliance uncovered) that renders the church effectively dead.

Either way, most churches are born, grow old, and eventually die. The exceptions are rare, and I expect many of the exceptions hardly fit the mould of a modern church organisation.

But it saddens me, all the same. As one by one, members decide they can no longer hold on and flee the sinking ship. Til only the stalwart remain. And as the remnant die off or face financial difficulties they have two choices – give in and close down the church, or remain loyal to the bitter end. And it is usually bitter.

This may sit uncomfortably with many church-goers. Despite the fact that New Zealand congregations are becoming larger – meaning big churches get bigger and small churches disappear – the idea of many churches blipping off the radar screen doesn’t mesh with the dreams of founding members, prophecies of great things, and the whole idea of Christ’s kingdom breaking out on the world.

Despite this, the death of a church should be faces stoically. Each person must do what they perceive is right at the time, and hope it pleases the one we live and die for. My parents the same.

And recognise that many good things come to an end. Families break up, kingdoms crumble, charities are bankrupted. Nonetheless, even though demographics, culture, leadership and apathy have withered my parents’ small church, it is the invisible, worldwide Church that morphs, revolutionises, weaves mysteries, outworks the kingdom, and remains forever in communion with God.

Isolationistic

2005-08-05T21:16:00.000+12:00

Isolationistic
How many worlds do people occupy; how many can we occupy?
Places from the past, fantasies from the future
where we make the rules.
The dashing masculine gets the heroine, and happily lives forever
or perhaps not, yet the precious beauty of the unfolding tragedy is almost worth it.

No one puts out the garbage
or wakes to a bad cold
or feels ... just ordinary.

Yet a disturbance exists,
inside every middle-aged woman feeding chips on the couch
the years have tried to squelch it, but it is there
crying out at the sound of music,
in the early hours of the dawn.
The children know it, they can feel it - I almost believed it once
that there is more than what we see
that these dreams, these bars of music, sounds of nature
are thin threads penetrating an invisible wall
beyond which lies a parallel world, alternate places, dimensions
that surround what we call normal.

But this is isolationistic
or is it? Is it everyone to his own
an escapism, designed by the mind to bear the tortures of 2002.
Or an extension of the polystyrene padding that encapsulates the comforted nations.

"Yes" - say the teachers - says the newspaper - say the bills on the table.
Yet peel off those onion layers
become as a child of the innocence age
feel the threads
poetry, music, faith, love
and wonder where they lead
for one day analytical realism will implode on itself
the walls of bone, muscle, flesh, will splinter and gape open
you will leave the world of mundane and pain
and enter the life beyond.

The start of it all

2005-08-04T21:39:00.000+12:00

Well here we go. A journey into the strange world of cyberspace. Like a spiritual dimension - real, but not real. Or maybe more real? Only one way to find out. Post the post, fly away, a pin-up board to map out a life, a painting starts with a brushstroke. Oh Brave New World, that has such people in it! I look forward to meeting them; old friends, new characters, blogs to blow my brain.

Blog-world is only a mouse click away.