You Give Up a Few Things, Chasing a Dream

Note: If any of you are unfamiliar with the movie “Treasure Planet” or the book Treasure Island, go see/read them and come back if you don't want any spoilers. Otherwise, proceed with your own caution.

In the lesser known animated Disney film “Treasure Planet”, a sci-fy re-telling of Robert Luis Stevenson's Treasure Island, cyborg John Silver and cabin boy Jim Hawkins have a moment after returning from a friendly jaunt among the stars. Silver praises Jim for his flying prowess saying that people would have been singing his praises if he'd had Jim's talent at his age. With a wry laugh, Jim states that that wasn't his experience but that he hoped to change that. “Sometimes - plans go astray,” Silver warns. “Not this time,” Jim responds confidently. At this point, Silver draws attention to his cyborg leg and performs some maintenance with the help of his protoplasmic pink blob pet, Morph. Looking a bit worried, Jim asks, “So, uh, how'd that happen anyway?” Gazing at his mechanical hand, Silver murmurs, “You give up a few things, chasing a dream.”

Dreams are costly things. As much as we like to think of dreams as lovely fluffy things like clouds or unicorns, we must first endure the thunder and lightning and horns before we can see their fulfillment. Throughout modern media, especially in children's literature and films, we are encouraged, even dared, to follow/pursue our dreams. Usually there is shown some kind of struggle, but I don't know that that always give it justice. How many have actually pursued their dreams and found that, far from the single large obstacle in their way that they saw in the movies, they must face obstacle after obstacle after obstacle after obstacle and then a small step forward. To actually achieve one's dreams, one must be willing to sacrifice anything from time to mental/emotional energy upon its altar.

But what happens when the pursuit of a dream becomes bondage? When all of one's energy and focus goes into the fulfillment of the dreams at the expense of everything else? Would our culture still say to pursue it? That the end must and will justify the means? John Silver, aside from the obvious loss of his right leg, right arm, and right eye, sacrifices, albeit somewhat regretfully, his relationships with Jim and even Morph. Finding Captain Flynn's treasure has become his one consuming passion in life. Should we applaud him for his single-minded determination to follow his dream not matter where it lead him? Of course not! He's the villain after all and I think this is important. It is not only a matter of physical or emotional loss that Silver experiences; he loses a part of himself. The part of him that praised Jim's talent and encouraged him when he felt discouraged is abandoned when it comes into conflict with his greater dream of treasure.

It can be easy getting caught up in a dream. I know that I often only see the rosy, golden result at the far end, ignoring the dark and painful road that leads to it. It looks so beautiful, sitting there in its pristine, un-achieved glory. But its beauty can be just as insidious as the siren's song, leading to places you never would have chosen along paths you would never have trodden. I have found myself weighed down with chains of my own making. Like Jacob Marley, I formed my bonds link by link, all the while thinking that I was growing closer to my dream. It was my dream that had been a mine from which I gathered needed iron for my chains. My dream had become a nightmare, something that still retained its golden exterior and promise of good but now held something hidden, something sinister. Like Silver, my dream had turned sour and had consumed a part of me. It had weakened rather strengthened, causing atrophy instead of growth.

Yet, we needn't remain attached to our dreams. We can let them go, let them fly away like loosed balloons, should they be carrying us away from where we ought to be. This is not to say that knowing that a dream has become poisoned means that it's any easier to release. In fact, it can be even more difficult to do so as it is often long-held dreams that become the most binding. But in the loosing there may come even greater good than the good we thought we'd get by holding on to the dream, though it may take time to see the good beyond the loss. Silver comes to realize the depth of his obsession and then must choose which good he really wants, Flynn's treasure or Jim. In a dramatic moment of either holding onto a boat-load of treasure or releasing it to reach the falling Jim, he lets the treasure, the fulfillment of his deepest and longest held dream, fall away so he may save Jim from doing the same. As they're escaping, Jim comments in amazement, “Silver, you gave up...?” Panting for breath, Silver responds, “Just a lifelong obsession, Jimbo. I'll get over it.” And so it can be with releasing a dream. First, we must realize it for what it has become. Then we can decide to let go and get over it.

Now this is in no way trying to diminish the importance of dreams. In fact, dreams are precious things that God gives us to inspire and encourage us onwards to greater things. And even if we must release dreams, that does not necessarily mean that they are gone for good. In Genesis 22, God asks Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Isaac was the fulfillment not only of Abraham's deepest dream but also of God's promise to him that he would have a son and be the father of many nations. By asking him to sacrifice his son, God was asking him to let go of his dream in a dramatic and seemingly definitive way. Yet Abraham obeyed. When asked by Isaac where the sacrifice would come from, his father answered that God would provide. As he was about to plunge the knife into his son's heart, God stopped Abraham and showed him a ram to sacrifice in Isaac's place. In the same way, we can be asked to let go of a dream or even be asked to kill it, but that may not necessarily be the end of it. It could be simply a season or a test to see where our focus and energies really lie. But even if it should be something left on the side of the road not to be picked up again, may I be able to say that Thy will be done and it is well with my soul.

Typewriter Monkeys and The San Francisco Writer's Grotto

What?! Two posts in one week where there is not a sequel involved? I know, my readers, I know; it's shocking. But I learned a couple of things over the past few days that I think is rather relevant to this blog.

First, I discovered a new blog, The Typewriter Monkey Task Force. Just as quirky as its title, this blog covers a variety of subjects in very fun and interesting ways. I mean, its subtitle is "Faith, Writing, Video Games, Literature, Life, the Universe, and Everything." That's a lot of stuff if you ask me. But it's not really the subject matter than struck me. Well, it kind of was and kind of wasn't. What I'm trying to say, and rather unsuccessfully at that, is that reading his blog, looking at his posts showed me that not everything that ends up here doesn't have to be some great work, or even partial work at that, but can just give my thoughts on things or share something that I found amusing. Granted, that's the way he chose to write his blog, and that not all blogs function in this way. However, for me, this was really freeing. It meant I didn't always have to have some great, edifying purpose behind my postings; they could be as simple as repeating a joke or musing on a conversation. I think I'd like to try that sometime.

Second, I bought a new book, 642 Things To Write About. While out shopping with my mom at Barnes &Noble, I made an impulse purchase of this particular beauty as I was literally about to go to the register to make several ... other ... purchases. *ahem* Anyways, there were two things that I found intriguing about this little book. The first thing was the fact that there are literally six hundred forty-two different writing prompts, in other words, two years worth of ideas should you choose to do a different prompt every day. And the range of the suggestions is fantastic. They can be as serious as relating your most embarrassing moment as if it happened to someone else or as silly as giving a pep talk to a dying plant. With this new tool, I have felt inspired to try new things, things I haven't even thought of before. My last post is the result of one of the exercises asking what can happen in a second. The other cool thing about this book is its creation; it came to be in a 24-hour period as a result of the brainstorming of the San Francisco Writer's Grotto, a modern day Inklings if you like. What this showed me is that 1) a writing community is an amazing thing and I should find one and 2) that not every idea I have for writing needs to be something spectacular or best-seller worthy; it can be silly.

And thus, I may be making a few changes to my routine and quality of posting based on my recent findings but I hope they will be for the better.

I Blinked and I Was Dead

I blinked and I was dead. Just like that. One second, I was alive and the next, dead. Yep, dead as a doornail, to borrow a famous phrase, which I've never understood really. I mean, of all the objects to be compared to death, a doornail would not have been at the top of my list. Maybe “dead as driftwood” or “dead as a coffin.” I guess there is the fact that the doornail was never alive, being made of metal and all, so the comparison becomes not only the obvious one of being very much dead but also that he may not have been alive in the first place.

Funny how much clearer you think when you're dead.

But still, the whole dying thing was much faster than I'd thought it would be. In the movies, everything slows down, and the person's life passes before their eyes like a fast-forwarded film. Honestly, I was kinda looking forward to that part. Well, a part of me looked forward to it; the other part dreaded semi-reliving every moment of my life. So when that didn't happen at all, I felt cheated, just a bit. I shouldn't really be surprised though since Hollywood over-dramatizes everything.

I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't blinked. Would I still be dead? Would I have lived to be married, had kids, spoiled grandkids, and finally died in a nursing home, filled with tubes? Would I have been happier? Made others happier? Brought about world peace? But who's to say I made the world better. Maybe I'd become the next world dictator or a serial killer. Would I have been a mean, selfish person who died alone and unnoticed? Or passed my days in utter obscurity? We'll never know. Because I'm dead.

Really now though, I'm not bitter about dying. It's just kind of amusing to think of “what-ifs,” like imagining what could have happened if you went left instead of right at a fork in the road. You'll never know so might as well imagine something crazy, right? I do have some regrets, people I wish I could have seen again or projects I wish I had completed. I hope this doesn't mean I become a ghost or anything. From what I've seen and read of them, it would stink to be one.

I will say this though about dying as quickly as I did. It didn't hurt. Often when reading a historical novel or watching some modern drama, I'd wonder how much it would hurt to die on the edge of sword or by a speeding bullet. In my experience, I felt nothing at all. I blinked and I was dead.

Musings on the Church and Its Branches

The modern Christian church is well known for its splintered nature: the Roman Catholics, the Anglicans, the Lutherans, the Calvinists, the Orthodox, the Pentecostals. It is well known how Christians have hurt other professing Christians because of differences in doctrine, killing in the name of the God of love. Families, communities, and churches have been broken apart because of differences of opinion on scriptural interpretation and church organization. While there have been efforts towards reconciliation or working together for a common goal, the church has remained segmented, often at animosity with other parts of the body of Christ.

Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 1:10-13 against church division, and what happened in a minor scale in the church of Corinth has happened on a major scale in the church at large. People were claiming Paul as their head, others Peter, others Christ. They splintered off, believing that the pieces of each could not coexist. Today, the church is doing the same. Some say they follow the original apostles, some the Pope, some Luther, some Calvin, some the Holy Spirit. We are no better than the church in Corinth. We have made their struggle one that has encompassed the Church in her entirety.

I do not know how to solve the differences; I am no better than a whistle blowing as a house is burning. But I believe it is better to recognize where we are in the context of history than to ignore or dismiss it because the past may enlighten how to proceed for the future. Lord, have mercy on your church.

Memorial Day Musing

"I thank God for my life, / for the stars and stripes. / May freedom forever fly; / let it ring. / Salute the ones who died, / those ones that gave their lives / so we don't have to sacrifice / all the things we love;"
~ "Chicken Fried" by Zac Brown Band

After years of going to the memorial service of my grandfather's Veterans of Foreign Wars post (VFW), a phrase has stuck with me: "we honour the victorious dead." I find myself thinking of this statement at various points throughout the year. The "victorious dead," an odd phrase referring to those who died in during their time of service. This is especially pertinent for this VFW post that honours a WWII Japanese American captain who jumped on a grenade to save the rest if his regiment. Kazuo Masuda never lived to see the victory he helped to win but he is honoured still for his sacrifice. And so are all who have fallen in the line of duty. Today*, we pay you do honour and respect. We who enjoy the benefits of your sacrifice declare you victorious, even in death, and thank you for the tomorrows we enjoy at the cost of yours.

For those who serve now and those who served and lived, we honour you as well for putting yourselves on the alter of freedom on our behalf. In defense of loved ones and strangers, you have risked all. For that, we are forever in your debt.

Finally, I'd like to personally thank Jichan, Uncle Chris, Jeremy, Mr. Cristetto, Scott, and Luke for fighting, in the past and the present, in my defense and all that I hold dear. I will never be able to fully express my gratitude or repay my debt. So I thank you from the bottom of my heart and promise to never forget what you have done for me.

*I meant to publish this on Memorial Day but didn't get around to posting it til a day later.

What Are Friends Made Of

As I was looking through some past writing, I found the following musing. I can actually remember writing this piece and how despondent I felt at the time. It never ceases to amaze me how easily my life goes in circles. Again I find myself in a similar place, wondering what it means to be a friend, what it means to be a "neighbor." Am I really a friend? Do I know what it means to be a friend? This is something that I have struggled with over and over. Now living in a small community that has drastically enlarged, I find myself trying to find how to connect with all these new people while still maintaining relationships I already have. Honestly, I often leave those relationships I've already cultivated to the wayside in pursuit of new ones. I always hate myself for this though. I know I will be forever learning how to find the balance between new and old relationships, but I still find it incredibly vexing not being able to do it now.

Friends are hard to come by nowadays. I mean, at any time, it can be hard to make a friend, but, with all the social networking, it can be harder to tell who is really a friend and who isn't. Because of this, you can get to know people on a surface level and think you know them well without ever getting to anything deeper than the current clothes trends or popular music. This is not to say that you can't make real friends over the internet or anything like that. I am merely pointing out a tendency in these types of relationships. And these tendencies can spill over into real human relationships. You can hang out, talk, go on trips, and still know nothing about the real person. It's a complicated maze of give-and-take, revealed and not revealed.

I have a habit of becoming consumed by stories at times, especially those of a chronic nature such as a book series or TV show. Partly, it is because of my natural, and sometimes irrational, love for stories. However, I have been thinking lately that there is more to it than that. I can sit in front of a computer for hours on end without ever thinking of talking to someone or trying to hang out with actual people. It's almost as if the real world doesn't matter anymore, that I am a part of the world of the story. I become so attached to the characters in the stories that I can feel with them. My heart breaks at their losses, soars with their triumphs. I know the inner workings of their minds and hearts, how they process and where they stand. They are my friends . . . as long as the pages or pixels last. When the stories end, there's a hole, an emptiness inside me where my heart for the characters has been. So I'll go and find another story that will take it's place with a new set of characters to befriend.

This becomes a problem when I leave the realm of story and enter that of reality. People won't just tell you all about themselves right off the bat like you can get from characters in a story. Real people expect you to give of yourself as well before they reveal things about themselves. You no longer have an easy access into people's minds and hearts. You have to work at it. You have to build trust. You have to build a relationship. And they don't magically appear. They take blood, sweat, and tears. They take effort and strain. It's a process . . . that never really ends. Like a house, it takes constant vigilance to see that nothing corrupts or begins to decay. You have to be careful about things like that with people.

There is also then the place where people trust you and open up to you and you do the same, just a bit. You have the ability to make people feel at ease with you and trust that you will hold their hearts tenderly, which you will. However, your heart is never really given away at all. You will show parts that look like more than what they are so that the other people think they're seeing the deeper parts of you while you still conceal from them the iceberg of your heart. People will say that you're one of their closest or best friends. On the outside, you smile and laugh and share but inside . . . inside, everything is in chaos. How do you say that you haven't shared anything? That you've been playing a part for possibly years? Do you ever actually tell them that? Do you simply go away and let yourself drift from their life, knowing that what they think is you is not you at all? These and so many more similar thoughts swirl around your head, even as you spend time with those who call you friend.

What are friends made of then? How do you know when someone is a friend and when they're not? When I am a friend? I don't know. Sorry for the ramble.

All's Fair in Love and War

All's fair in love and war, they say. No holds are barred in pursuit of their end. Normally, love and war, aside from this statement, are depicted as opposites. Who can forget the hippie signs of "Make love, Not war." However, could it not be argued that there would be no war without love? Could it not be said that war could be reduced to a love worth fighting for? This may be a stretch, but it seems to make sense, does it not? The wars over territory, depending on the territory, could be rooted in a deep love of money, should the land be financially profitable, or a deep love of family heritage, should the land have historical significance. Wars for independence could spring from a love of liberty while holy wars could come from a pious love of God. In a similar way, it could be said that love is a kind of war: two or more sides vying for the same object in hopes of increasing their own happiness. While shells may not fly and trenches are left undug, emotions of the individuals will often fly in varying directions and trenches will be dug in their hearts as a result. Perhaps, this is all nonsense and groundless conjecture. Perhaps, the extrapolations may be taken too far. Yet, love and war do not necessarily seem so very different as is often presented.

Disclaimer: This is not to say that I believe that all those who instigate or participate in wars are doing so out of love for something. I am not so naive as to not know that there are people who do such things for uglier reasons. I also do not believe, though one may be motivated to war by a deep, perhaps even justifiable, love, that that makes war condone-able. I am not pacifist and do believe that there are things worth fighting for but war should never be glorified as something that every human being should aim for; war comes at a cost, often one that is more than had been expected or desired. Lastly, I do believe that it is through love that war may, at one time, come to an end. I do not think it likely that humans will ever reach that time in this present world, but I do think that there is a Love that can surpass all other loves, and hates, that motivate people to war. I only thought the subject was something interesting to ponder.