The lonely wail of the cicada

Standing in the flashing lights, the world just passes by.

Ebbing flowing ever moving, watching ever shy.

Oceans rising, falling

the end is never nigh.

The barbeques at my condo are now available to be used and so I made an exploratory trip down to the common area to check it out. Also, I haven't been down there since it was finished so I was scoping out if it would be a good place for me to just chill out. It is not. There is no shade.

While I was down there, I got to self-reflecting as one usually does when fighting the queasiness brought by a prior night of hard drinking while listening to the cicadas call. (I am being completely facetious. I know I'm just weird.)

For me, the cicada always evokes memories of Korea. They're all over the place and have this amazing habit of waking you up at 5:30 in the morning when you don't want to be woken up and reminded that you're in a humid dankpit. But it's only annoying for as long as you are reminded that you were woken up at 5:30 in the morning. If you take a moment to listen to it, it's actually quite a beautiful sound.

The cicada that I heard today was not beautiful. It was staccato and sounded like a machine gun version of the sound. It sounded almost like gogogogogogogogogogogogogogogogogogogogogo.

It was oddly appropriate that I was in the middle of Toronto when I heard this sound.

It was also strange that at the time I was thinking about how the night before my ego was wounded by the fact that people were not willing to give me the time of day to run any openers or break any ice. I am a parakeet without any pretty feathers or bright colours.

But the cicada. Everyone hears the cicada. The moments will not pass by because no one can ignore the cicada.

Seize the moment. Don't stand and let the world pass you by because you're too shy to tackle the ocean. Because, as the little thing in my blurb says (you know... on your profile where it tells you to write something), you can only stay in the plane so long. Eventually, you might as well jump. Don't let someone else decide when that time is going to be.

(Seriously... when have my blog posts not been completely vague and incoherent. Hope that it meant something.)

Oh yeah... by the way, I wrote that poem. If I see it somewhere else without my name on it... well you'll hear from me.

The windings of the road

While I was in Europe and taking lots of pictures like any good tourist, I find myself fascinated with taking pictures of pathways. Giant stone paved pathways in the gardens of Versailles. Small, uneven cobbled back alleys in small towns in Italy. Lush green pathways along riverbanks in German parks. Stone-red ravine pathways that twisted and turned so much you never knew what was around the corner.

Being the sort of romantic idiot that searches for stories and meaning in the smallest things, I began to think about the analogies between life and pathways. I'm sure you've all seen those inspiring photos of lush green pathways, or those bright and emotional photos of rutted countryside lanes twisting into the mountains. In fact, I recently saw a photo of a unpaved path, crude ranch fencing on either side, with a misty haze obscuring the distance - with the only thing that could be made out with any certainty being a big tree. No idea what kind.

When we take those steps that constitute the journey of our life, we walk down a particular laneway. Sometimes they're the green, lush pathways through royal parks that remind you of life, lavishness, and the richness of all life has to offer - with the giant castle at the end of the path. Sometimes the path you walk on is in the middle of the desert, sand swept, barren, and devoid of any life except the vultures that wonder what you would taste like with BBQ sauce. And very rarely do you get to choose the weather or the scenery that passes by, and occasionally trips you up. You choose the path, and then you take the lemons as they come.

But sometimes, after endless loops and turns around rocky roads, a guide tells you to stand off to the side and hold up for a moment, because the next thing that you see around the corner is going to be the most beautiful manmade thing that you have or ever will see this side of the death line. You can choose to believe it. Or you can choose to think the man is off his rocker. Likely you've already paid the man so you might as well go along with it, even if he lying.

And around the corner you go, hesitant, with high expectations. In the sliver between two cracks, you catch a glimpse of more red sandstone and think to yourself "Great. Just some more red rock." But then you take a closer look and it looks like some sort of pillar. You take a few more steps and even more comes into view. A sculpture here. A carved picture there.

And suddenly you're before an international historical landmark that blows your mind with the intricacy and delicacy of its carvings.

Fans of the country of Jordan will know what I'm talking about. And no, this post is not about Petra. Though you should go.

Life likes to take you down weird paths and throw interesting loops. Sometimes the next loop is just more rock. Sometimes there's a protruding piece of branch right around the corner that smacks you in the face and leaves you a wonderful souvenir of a mouth full of leaves and black bruises on your face. But if you ever get to afraid to walk around those corners because you've walked into so many branches, well start ducking already and move on.

And sometimes. Sometimes there's a truly magnificent sight to behold.

The simple things of life

Having a craving for something sweet, I pulled open my refrigerator and peeked in. There was nothing but food and milk... but on closer inspection there was some chocolate milk. So I poured some out, mixed it with regular milk to give me more milk to consume and started drinking it down. As I was doing that, I looked out the window and noticed that it was snowing.

My response? "It's snowing."

In written word, it seems unassuming. But the sheer joy that I heard in my voice and felt in my heart compelled me to do nothing more than to move as quick as I could to the window and stare out in joy of the fact that the snow was falling.

There is no other way of describing what I felt like other than to say that I felt that childlike wonder of experiencing something for the first time... or the more adult experience of not having seen something in a long time and then reexperiencing it again.

You may of course think me odd. You may ask, "But JP (yes people call me that... you may too) you've seen snow before. In fact it was there not just a few weeks ago being all slushy and annoying." I am fully cognizant of this fact. I have no idea what it was that made me feel so utterly joyful in my heart. It made me want more of it.

I just had to write this down and memorialize it in the 0s and 1s of digital data. And I was going to stop here, but as i was writing this another thought came to my head (as they are apt to do when I'm writing a blog post).

I desire to come to God and remember what that felt like... and for that to spark in me the same joy sparked in my heart from such a simple thing as seeing snow fall. Unfortunately, my brain refuses to allow me to be more eloquent then that.

Good day friends on the interweb. I hope that you also experience that pure joy of a simple thing some time very soon.

The exceptions disprove the rule

God is funny.

The other day I was walking up Yonge Street when I was stopped by a person that was soliciting donations for Save The Children. Usually I just blow these people off - if I want to donate money to a charity, I'll do it on my own time. And I was in a rush at the time.

But I had to stop. This person was not just a person. This was one amazing specimen of female human being. Her face was just imperfectly symmetrical enough to trick the human brain into thinking that it was, in fact, perfect. Her eyes were big, wide, and green - with a hint of glitter makeup around to accentuate them. Her nose was small, pointed and perky. And then when she spoke her voice was at that perfect register that makes the words ring. I felt like asking the stupid question, "Did it hurt?" because I genuinely felt like this is what it must be like to be in the presence of an angel. I didn't. Wouldn't have hurt to have tried.

She introduced herself as Amy, I introduced myself as Jonathan and we talked for 15 minute, she went for the sale close, and I had to blow her off at that point. I really had no intention of donating to Save the Children at that time.

This got me to thinking about all those people (like myself) who are not blessed with the good looks of Amy. Instead, God armed us with brains and the ability to adapt - which seems like a shitty trade-off because that means you actually have to put in effort to get anywhere in the world. He also gave us the ability to concoct meaningless platitudes to make us feel better about ourselves ("Nothing worth having is free." Load of crap.)

Those that just get by, become the part of the normal everyday mass of humanity, walking up at 7:30 AM, taking a shower, brushing their teeth, getting dressed, and getting into work by 9 AM. Live their life. And then die - another blip in the continuum of human history that forever plods forwards.

But even those blessed with some natural advantage get swallowed by the grind of life moving constantly forward.

And for some reason, this makes all of us feel like meaningless useless lumps of carbon destined to be forever forgotten in the world. And for some reason, this never sits right with people.

Because we are all unique little snowflakes destined to do something great! *scoff*

So we search for greater meaning in life. We strive to do something that will make people remember us. Whether that means we become famous or infamous, for a lot of people it really doesn't matter. The focus of religious and spiritual experience is always being a part of something greater - subsuming ourselves to the will of God or enlightening ourselves from the circle of reincarnation to Nirvana.

And God equips us with the tools to go on this search. For some - like Amy - he grants stunning good looks. For others, he grants amazing intellectual ability. For some, he gives them the ability to work with their hands and put things together. For others, he gives the lucky bastards a melange of skills.

It becomes up to us to be the exception that disproves the rule of mediocrity.

I have come to conclude....

that there are certain principles of relationships that are the same irrespective of the identity of the parties involved.

1) Never let emotions or a perceived deadline rush you into a decision that you might later regret.
2) Do not judge an individual on their appearance. Ever.

I made both mistakes today.

Ok, let's be honest, I've made both mistakes millions of times. But today was the first time that I made the mistake in such quick succession that it made me realize that I might be generating trouble for myself in a few weeks time.

The beauty of this is that it does not only apply in the situation of picking a partner for a final assignment... but that it works for almost every social interaction imaginable where you have to make a decision to pick a person... for whatever reason.

Scenario 1:
You are getting old and getting pressure everywhere that you should get married. You succumb to this FALSE (fume for a bit) pressure and rush out to find a woman in your social circle. There are many potential suitors, but one that you're not entirely sure of. She's there, but you've never really gotten to know her and she doesn't come across as particularly appealing. You pick out of the limited pool of women left and get engaged. (Yes the scenario is absurd.)

A day later you get a chance to hang out with the other girl. You find out that in fact she's perfect. But of course the commitment is already made. (I've already established that the situation is somewhat absurd... is it really that difficult to imagne a final decision in this...geez. Haters.)

Scenario 2:
You are a businessman looking for a partner. There are potential people out there, but not many as others in your circle of influence are beginning to seize other opportunities. There is one person that you're not so sure of, and another that you know very well what you're going to get... but also not sure of. Feeling a false sense of pressure to decide quickly, you go with the one that you know what you're getting.

At a business lunch later that day, you find out the other person was perfect. But of course it's too late. The contracts signed and its done.

Scenario 3:
Girls. You all know what I'm talking about. I don't feel like typing out a 3rd scenario.

Moral of the story. I'm an idiot.

But of course, we all knew that already didn't we?

The pretentiousness of reading your own writing

I wonder if authors sit and read their own books again and again. This suggests some sort of pretentious arrogance - that something you wrote was worth reading more than once.

Of course, if other people think it worthy of reading more than once, why shouldn't you.

This particular vein of thought sprang forth as I rediscovered a blog I created some time ago. You can read it here. It's called "Devotions with Jonathan" and it's all about the Bible. If you're not Christian, you might not find it interesting - but you never know. I'm pretty poetic sometimes. (Yes I'm aware that makes me look like an egotistical airhead.)

My life has changed much since I wrote those blogs three years ago. One might even say that I've taken many steps backwards from those days. It's funny, because everything that I say there is still just as relevant to my life, but in a totally different way. Strange how that works. Reading those blogs, I feel like past Jonathan is finger wagging future Jonathan. And I can't even resort to the platitudal "Don't judge me" or "Don't tell me what to do" for obvious reasons. (Can you imagine someone telling themselves "don't tell me what to do?" The absurdity of the situation makes me actually laugh out loud.)

And yet my heart seems to have hardened somewhere along the line. I find myself caring less. I find myself nostalgically reminscing that those were good times, but things are different now. But pray tell what's so different now? I seem to have been a better person then; at least this is what my writings suggest.

My writings also suggest that my writing style has changed somewhat since then. I don't write in such long sentences. My thoughts are more clipped. I have far more paragraphs than I need. Apparently, the hours of video gaming have finally turned my brain into mush.

I was going to talk about a new endeavour that I was considering. That new endeavour seems like a poor choice after having spent the last hour reading my devotional blog.

Spiritual conviction is a funny thing.

Random musings

I often wonder at the phenomena of tweets these days. It's like the lazy person's blogging. Instead of taking the time to formulate a well-written, articulate blog post, people decide that they need to report their lives in 150 characters or less.

One begins to wonder whether anyone actually cares about the tweets and lives of others. The irony of this, of course, is that this blog also goes out to the vast wilderness that is cyberspace, to be consumed by all who care to read it - and then promptly forgotten as the wild musings of that crazy guy... who I don't even like anyway.

Short, clipped statements. I wonder what it is that makes the sentences get longer the more years of education that one has. Then the tweet arrives. Is it a revolution against those years of educational training that suggest to you that the more words you can fit into a sentence, the more academically chic you are? Does the pendulum swing and give us indication that we are moving towards a generation of peoples that express themselves in less than 150 characters?

I've been watching a lot of Mad Men recently. You know, the TV show? It intrigues me how brilliantly written some of the material in that show is. Layer upon layer to be peeled back only for you to realize that the layer has somehow gotten back on again to be unwrapped once more. When you peel the layer back again, you see it's strange and obscure connection with the previous layer... which you find once again wrapped on the package of the story. Intricate. Complicated.

Just the way I like it.

It was of course recommended to me by a friend who decided that Japan was a much cooler place to be than Canada. He may be right - both literally and figuratively. I can't speak for the literally part, I'll have to ask him, but I'll go with the figuratively. I mean, what is cooler than obscure Japanese anime where plot twists twist upon themselves to reveal yet another twist of the plot.

Final question: Does the above seem like one trying too hard? It really shouldn't, this post was whipped up in a frenzy of typing and took all of... 4 minutes. Perhaps more. Probably more.

As a side note, if you are confused - consider yourself not alone. I'm confused too. If you get it - enlighten me.

Because the above wasn't supposed to make sense.

Maybe you're the crazy one.