When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed.

So.

As it turns out, unless the Force directly intervenes, I probably won't be going to WVU this fall.

WVU refuses to recognize me as independent from my parents and also refuses to recognize Konnor as being dependent on me.

They don't want to recognize my two-year-old son as being dependent on me.

Nor a twenty-two-year-old single dad as being independent from his folks who live two hours away.

As such, they couldn't give me the financial aid I needed to attend and my folks can't afford to send me.

I wonder what will become of my life. I fear that my life is falling woefully short of fulfilling. I wanted so very badly to accomplish something with my life, to serve so higher purpose. Greater than myself. I wonder if that will ever happen.

I would rather die than be mediocre, but I fear I am destined for mediocracy.

To Whom.

You have taught me so much. I am forever greatful. When You took me in, I was still a boy. I was desperate to believe in something. Anything. I wanted this to be a magnificent world, full of marvels.

I remember the angst of my youth. My aggression and fear driven by not knowing anything. You sought me out. I wanted to do what was right by You, but only within the confines of my own way of thinking. I hid my fury behind the mask of righteous indignation.

You showed me my folly. Taught me to control my mind, hold it still in my hand like a cup of water.

As I grew, the fires of my temper cooled and the amber glow of fury faded into the pale gray ash of contemplation. I wanted to know me as You knew me, I wanted to see my like through your eyes. The Father becomes the Son. Why did You believe in me, when I didn't even believe in myself?

I grew older still, a man now. My eyes, once vibrant and blue, now pale grey as the ash.

But my mind and heart burns. I want You to show me where I need to be. My true heart's desire is to be where You desire me. Move me, or move the earth around me.

Jedi Proverb.

"Be wise, my determined apprentice, there is no happiness like the happiness of having few desires."

Children of the Jedi

My son is an amazing little boy, consider the following photographic evidence...

He is an expert swordsman.

A master of disguse.

Suave and debonare.

A gentleman with a wealth of talents.

A comdeic genius.

A well-read scholar.

Someone who acts in the defense of others.

And he has heat-vision.

One day he shall grow into a mighty hero, I dare say he has a touch of destiny about him.

A Wicked Inclination

"There is a wicked inclination in most people to suppose an old man decayed in his intellects. If a young or middle-aged man, when leaving a company, does not remember where he laid his hat, it is nothing; but if the same inattention is discovered in an old man, people will shrug up their shoulders, and say, 'His memory is going'."
- Dr. Samuel Johnson

I've never really lost anyone before. Not by way of death, I mean. Many people have walked out of my life, but none have been taken.

My grandparents had both been very sick over the last few years. In my youth, I remember my grandma's subtle yet protective demeanor and my grandpa's mischiveous grin whenever he told my younger brother some fantastic story. Perhaps about how cats had to sell their tails during the great depression, I remember that specifically.

As I grew and my appearance drastically shifted (long hair, tattoos, etc.) and so did my responsibilities (my sudden mutation into an unwed dad), suddenly I was bombarded from almost every corner of my clan to alter myself or revert back to some fresh-faced boy. "Cut your hair," or "You can't let your dad see your tattoos," not to mention the infinite disappointment slung my way by one specific member of my family upon finding out I was having a son.

Never so with my grandparents. I don't know why. Maybe in their eyes I was eternally going to be the five year old with blond hair and a Superman action figure in his hands. Or maybe they realized that it doesn't matter. Maybe it was their realization, as they climbed the ladder of age, that appearance and status and the perfect life are all fleeting. That the things you think are so phenominally important aren't going to be when you grow close to the end. As long as you have the people around you that you love.

Or maybe they thought I looked garishly charming with my long hair and tattoos.

My grandpa died on March 23rd. He had a heart attack around 1:30am and died around 5:30pm. I didn't take this in the fashion I expected. I became angry. I'm not sure why, but I did. Very angry. Not at him for leaving, or at the doctors for being unable to save him. But it seemed I was mad at everyone else in the world.

Two days was his viewing. Before that, we went to see my grandma in the nursing home. She has extreme ulzhiemers. We went to tell her that grandpa had died. When we got there she was sitting in her room alone, buckled into her wheelchair, her one eye was swollen shut from where she had fallen out of bed a few days prior. My mom asked her if she knew who everyone was. She paused, then said yes. Her voice was forced, and sounded like two stones scraping together. A far cry from her gentle voice that used to read my little brother and I golden books in the days of our childhood. My mom spoke with her for a little bit and then we left. My mom leaned on me for support as we left the nursing home.

She never told her. I think I'm ok with that.

The viewing was awful. But then again, I don't think it was supposed to be fun. Lots of people I don't know coming up to me to tell me how sorry they are and how proud grandpa was of me. Forgive me if I sound resentful. Mad at everyone, remember?

I didn't want to be there anymore, in fact I wanted to be anywhere else. The psuedo-comforting feel of a funeral home is something that I thankfully will never get used to. A house unlived in. A house that knows only sorrow and grief, no happy times ever shared within those walls.

Almost as a comedic respot, one of the visitors brought me a plate of cookies. Which I ate with brother in the back room.

I thought it was funny.

I guess all of this is to say that my grandpa is gone, I'm not glad that he is gone. However, I'm glad that his suffering is done. He doesn't have machines that live his life for him, beating his heart and pumping his blood. He doesn't have to live with the misery that his wife of 64 years doesn't remember who he is. As trite as it sounds, he is in a better place.



(This was written a few months back, since then my grandmother has joined my grandpa. One in the Force forever and always. Amen.)

The Problem of Evil.

The main problem most people have with the notion of an omnipotent and all-benevolent God is, what is commonly referred to as the "Problem of Evil".

The Problem of Evil arises from the supposition that a completely good deity would not have created a world containing evil, or would likewise not permit evil's continued existence and influence in this reality, and that an omniscient and omnipotent God should be able to arrange and re-arrange the world according to Its intentions. So, the common argument is: since evil obviously does exists, either said deity intends it to exist, does not know it exists, or has no power to keep it from existing, and is therefore not completely benevolent, omniscient, or omnipotent. Thus, no such deity can exist.

But.

What is the real definition of evil? Usually, "evil" is painted in broad strokes using widely acceptable terms, such as "suffering" or "pain". However, some theists choose to argue that "evil" cannot be defined in human terms, claiming that only God, the creator of the abstract notions of "good" and "evil", is the only one suited to give us a clear definition of both and their intended roles in our world (much like a painter is the only real authority on his own work, all other outside input is merely speculation and opinion) and thus the premise "evil exists" cannot be verified (this still makes the definition of "all-benevolent" problematic, though since this approach does not refute the argument, as the logic of the argument is still valid if applied to a clearly stated definition such as suffering or pain "as we perceive them", and "benevolence" includes being against human suffering).

However, this response is plagued by a whole slew of problems. Firstly, it is only plausible if one presupposes the existence of God, which at the present moment we can't prove. If God does not exist, and if humans are the highest form of sentient life, then our perception of what constitutes "good" and "evil" simply is what constitutes good and evil.

So, how do we perceive them? Usually, there are two kinds of perceived evil: "moral" evil (oxymoron much?) and "natural" evil. Moral evil is any evil, often defined as seemingly pointless pain and suffering (like the Holocaust or the Silent Hill movie), that results from the free actions of human beings. Natural evil is any other kind of seemingly pointless pain and suffering, such as deaths which occur as a result of natural events. These events (such as natural disasters, disease, or even simply death as a whole) while seemingly unfair to those directly and peripherally involved, are natural and not the result of any free will action of another person.

Now, presuppose God exists, it is plausible that God may allow some suffering in order that we may learn lessons, overcome adversity, and grow stronger. This type of second-order good could reasonably be argued to be a better situation than a world with no evil but also no second-order good. This higher good seems like it could be part of some plan that humans just do not grasp. Yet, as always, certain problems still remain. Example: If one less person had died in the Holocaust, could we still have learned a lesson? Could we still have had the opportunity to overcome suffering and achieve some kind of second-order good? If the answer is yes, then the Problem of Evil remains. Even one tiny bit of unjustified evil is enough for the full force of the argument to be felt.

The only "real" argument is that God allows evil to exist so that humans can have freedom of choice, to do good or evil, so that they are whole beings, and not mindless machines. Critics of this argument point out that according to this logic, everyone who is not omnipotent can be argued not to have "free will". However, the choices a person can make are totally subjective and are dependent upon one's innate nature and the total sum of their experience and knowledge. So, if someone were naturally inclined to do good, he would still have free will and thus the choice to do evil would be ever-present.

Thus the Problem of Evil is ours. Our actions are dictated by us and the choice is ours alone. The notion of where evil comes from ultimately is secondary to where evil goes and what we, as masters of our own free will, do about it.

A Moment.

"My son I will never leave you..."

Konnor strains against the oppressive constraints of his car seat to look down into the valley below as we drive by. Giant silver windmills, several hundred feet high, tower above the surrounding forest, dotting the mountain side. He makes a noise I interpret as astonishment. I cant help but agree.

"Even in the face of my death, the richness of my life shall be yours"

A Zen teacher once said that the only thing a man has is the present, the past and future are things you will never see. All we have in life are a series of present moments, but too often were too hung up on the past or the future, or how one affects the other, to even see the present. Seeing the present is to be aware of everything around you and the beauty therein. Starkly contrasting what we are taught in western culture.

My son holds my hand as we hike up the mountain path, he points out rocks and trees. He lets me know that the trees are green.

"All that I have, all that I've learned, everything I feel... all this, and more... I bequeath you, my son"

Everything melts away, and all you do is exist. Singular is your existence and your communion, the things you know arent important and that which you dont know is not worth knowing. Belief and fact, the concepts which have made war for the souls of men for the life age of earth, fade into the black and you simply are.

He smiles. And in the present moment, I am happy.

"You will carry me inside you all the days of your life. You will make my strength your own, and see my life through your own eyes, as your life will be seen through mine"

He sleeps with his mouth agape as we drive home in the rain. Swollen, fat drops break against my winshield, in the distance lightning sounds triumphantly, proundly. A snort and a muffled snore are Konnors only reply.

Though he is right there, I miss him already. In the present moment, I am weary and morose. Soon he will go home and I wont see him for fourteen more sunsets. Though I know I shouldnt, I find myself inexorably fixated on what will happen between then and now, and why it cant be now and not then.

"The son becomes the father, and the father, the son"

All we ever have is the present.

"This is all I ... all I can send you, my son."