gut honest faith

Silver and gold

So yesterday I learned that rosh hashanan fell on my Birthday, and so did the beginning of the year of jubilee, something taking place only once every 50 years. Apparently, things taken from me will be restored back to me. Despite knowing so little about either one of these occasions, I thoroughly embrace them and view it quite favourably that they happen to fall on my big day. Interestingly enough, jubilee in this context of the Jewish calender actually was called that due to the blowing of a special horn on that day, ringing in the coming year. So, I am tooting my horn about the fact that on my Birthday a horn is traditionally tooted, well, blown. And boy am I ready for a New Year.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “These Horns Were Made for Tooting.”


This life

Writing about this life is an endless endeavour. In fact, everything that has ever been written is or was about this life. Life can be experienced in falsehood, and thus cause us much pain. Life can also be lived in truth and thereby bestow upon the living great pleasure. This life is a gift, which, if not properly viewed, is a slap in the face of the living. For, is not this life the wellspring of so much heartache and suffering? Don’t we have sufficient amounts of writings that show this to be true? And, don’t we also all have severe experiences that teach us this very thing? Life is a gift from God, it says, and yet, how hard is it to believe this? My name actually means, gift of God, and yet how much did I struggle to accept this as truth? Until today, which is appropriate as it is my Birthday. Until now, I have received no gifts whatsoever. Yes, I have a long held animosity towards my Birthdays, for how should I enjoy them if I don’t agree with it’s outcome, which is the gift of my life? So, the realization hit me right between the eye today: Accepting my life as being a true gift is only possible if I also accept the other gift of God, which is grace. God’s grace has a face and a name, sounding very much like a Mexican man. Imagine having a compass in life, but one which has no needle. Pretty useless in finding one’s way around. The intricate connection between the gift of life and the gift of grace is giving my life direction and begins to bring order in a seemingly random existence. Yes, this life has a happy ending, I am on my way, and on it there are several markers to assure me that I am on the right path. Without grace, I would never make it there. This much I know.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “No Cliffhangers.”

Anti Authority

Raised by a mom who valued new findings of the pedagogy movement during the hippie era as gospel, discipline was not part of my staple food when growing up. Consequently, developing a daily routine came to me as hard work. Often times, I would falter under the weight of it. It took time to appreciate my otherness in that respect, in particular, as I had not been able to adopt a certain external schedule due to our continual moving around the world. People don’t all view things equally, I quickly came to learn, and so a relativism formed within me. Coupled with an anti authoritarian view of the world, routine as a form of norm was naturally rejected. At times I think that may be one of the reasons I identify with prisoners so strongly. At least on an emotional level I can relate to being trapped (as any form of norm still presents itself as an entrapment to me) and I can comprehend and almost at times appreciate the kind of thinking underlying certain non-violent crimes, for it is a creativity outside the box that is required to question the status quo in order to achieve ones goal. Well, saying that, I do not suffer from the societal backlash of being imprisoned nor from the punishment an imprisonment places upon a person with all its internal rules. I guess fighting for a routine is one of the hardest things I have had to do in my life, and I can empathise with those who shudder at the prospect of having to hit the outside world, trying to make it in a world that essentially reeks alien to them.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Daily Ritual.”