Grab bag: of mice, sleep-deprived zombies, and the Phillies

It's been a while...

I have a few serious posts that I've been thinking about, but no time to actually write them, so that will have to wait for another rainy day. In the meantime, just a few things I've been thinking about lately.

- Mice match their environment. The mice that run around in the grime of the T tracks are different in color from those that run around in my apartment, as a result of their environment. I wonder if that's true for humans as well: our hues and personalities are colored by our surroundings.

- On cold days, people in the city tend to be less friendly that usual when outside, and more friendly that usual when inside.

- It is astonishing to me how many people in Boston are rooting for the Phillies in this World Series. It seems that hatred of one thing unites people to another thing. I wonder if this is also true in other areas of life. And I wonder if this is a good thing... or not.

- October is the month in which students decide that their lives are over, fear of failure sets in, sleep deprivation sets in, tests become more frequent, sickness more prevalent, and grouchy sick zombies start to walk the campus. By December, life returns to normal. This happens every October. I wonder how things would change, if we could hold perspective by remembering from the year prior? I wonder, on a larger scale, how much more hope we would have, if we held longer term memory in general...

Public Transportation

If you know me, you know that I love public transportation. A lot.

See, I think, in many ways, public transportation is the great equalizer of all people...

Tonight, riding home at rush hour, bodies crammed together without regard for "personal space," I was struck by how many different types people (who would never otherwise coalesce) were literally rubbings shoulders with one another.

Behind me, the two college-aged women, laughing at one another while secretly (but not so secretly) checking themselves out in the windows.

To my right, the woman wearing solely designer clothing, the latest hair styling and coloring, and the Gucci shoes, sitting next to the teenage boy who hadn't had a hair cut in months if not years, wearing thrift shop flannel and sneakers.

To my left, the autistic man, who was repeating "I'm not so awkward" in repetitions of threes and going into fetal position every time the T made a loud noise.

Down the car, the work-men in dust covered boots, standing alongside the business men in their spit polished leather shoes, next to the students in their odd assortment of fashion and "style," across from the tourists of all the world, awkwardly falling into one another as the T lurches and stalls, and the homeless woman, clutching her bags containing all of her possessions.

All breathing the same air and sharing the same space. For the commute of 5 minutes to an hour, all basically on a level playing field. All experiencing the same delays, germs, frustrations and crush of human flesh.

I'm not naive enough to assume that public transportation levels the playing field. In 15 minutes, the doors open and people stream out to their individual lives, many without even noticing, let alone engaging with, their fellow passengers. There are those who cannot afford even the $2.00 fare necessary to ride, and there are those who would never lower themselves enough to ride on public transport. But for a few brief moments, I can dare to dream.

And then the doors will open, and everyone will go their own way, into their own worlds, once more...

From the Mountain Top

This is why I love going hiking:

Hell of our own making

inside a hell of my own making
sunlight outside,
I see the open door...
but somehow, I remain
inside the prison cell.
not bound by authority or sentence,
but by self-condemnation
and fear.
this has been my home for so long
these lies I believe,
these walls that I have built,
this has been my home for so long
that I do not know how to leave...
and I wonder, at times,
do I even want to?
or have I so acclimated to the darkness,
that I run away from the light?

open door,
still I remain
in the moldy, stark, dank
prison cell.

what is it that keeps you bound,
in a hell of your own making,
hiding from the Light...

Wisdom from Augustine

Shamelessly lifting this quote from one of the blogs that I read regularly:

"If you believe what you like in the gospel, and reject what you don't like, it is not the gospel you believe in, but yourself."

- St. Augustine

I need a bigger God than that... and my guess is that you do too.