A Crack in Everything

For close to seven years now, at our gatherings at Mary’s house, I spend several minutes looking at a bust of an African tribesman.

He is carved out of dark hard wood. He has bold features, a broad forehead, sad eyes and a soft mouth. The dark lines around his eyes show a lifetime of experience. I imagine him to have been a hunter or a farmer. Perhaps he was a warrior but this would not have been his choice.

The distinguishing thing about the bust itself is that it has a crack in it. It runs from the top of the African’s head down through his right eye, stops, and then proceeds from the base of his neck to the middle of his sternum, where the carving stops.

The crack is a flaw not intended by the carver. It happened, I assume, as a result of the wood drying too quickly, or because over time the Alberta climate was just too dry for it.

In any case, while there wasn’t an original flaw in the wood, there was a seam, a fault line, that was vulnerable and gave way to certain environmental forces.

Even with this gash in his skull he looks very much alive. To my eye, he has seen more pain than he’d have liked. But there is a serene wisdom etched into the creases of his face and I believe him to be at peace in his place by the window.

Sun through woods
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The first time I saw him, and now, almost every time I see him, I’m reminded of the song by Leonard Cohen that has in it the line: "There is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in."

I believe this is why my African friend is serene and wise. I like to believe that through this “fault line,” light and therefore truth, has gotten into this wooden skull of his and because of this he has taken on a life that his sculptor had always hoped for.

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Paris Hilton and the Homeless

Here’s a post I never thought I’d do…I’m going for traffic, obviously not tone. Forgive me when it’s all over.

So anyway, at the end of these LA conferences we are always given a day to relax, sightsee, and generally become the tourists we are.

There are always options. This year there was golf, symphony, Santa Monica or Paris Hilton.

Okay, I made the last bit up. What happened was that a group of us that chose to traipse around Santa Monica pier stumbled upon the Socialite filming her new movie, with the oh so clever title, ’The Hottie and the Nottie.’ Just like it says on her chair. How tedious…

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(…but hold on Steve, don’t cast that stone. After all, remember, after the security guard told you where you could stand, you, like any unabashed paparazzo, were snapping pictures at every "sighting.")

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Okay, anyway, after an interminable amount of time and hairspray, Ms. Hilton popped up and pranced (Left: Yes, she actually did prance.) to a carnival-like set under a great black screen.

Then, in the company of a midget dressed as a mime and a girl that resembled Oz’s Dorothy, she did all of 20 seconds of dialogue before the requisite, "cut."

Do you suppose there’s a chance this one may go direct-to-DVD?

From there, we unwound by riding the 84 year old Santa Monica pier carousel. The same carousel where Paul Newman and Robert Redford perpetrated their "Sting."

After this we shuttled off to Venice Beach, which my colleague Janelle accurately described as Edmonton’s White-Ave on crack.
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But in my estimation, on the bizarre-barometer, Venice Beach still registered below the "primping of Paris." Careful.

Venice Beach stroll
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I did find something redeeming about Ms. Hilton. Last fall, as reported on the Daily Dish, Ms. Hilton thrilled a homeless man in Hollywood when she handed him a $100 bill.

Apparently, the cheeky panhandler raced up to the wannabe singer’s/actress’ car as she was leaving a McDonald’s and asked her for $100.

Bystanders heard him drop his price to just $1, but, with cameras from TMZ.com focused on her, Hilton decided she was feeling generous. She reached into her bag and handed him a crumpled $100 bill…and posed for a picture.

As someone involved in fundraising for the homeless, LA certainly holds the most promise for a guilt-induced giving campaign.

Bless you for sullying yourself and allowing me to purge. (smiley face here)

It’s good to back in snowy Edmonton.

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The Introvert

After all these years, conferences still unnerve me. Large gatherings–where everyone is merely an acquaintance, where conversations seem scripted, and in my line of work, where gregariousness is next to godliness–still unsettle me. And in this unsettledness I become more introverted, more reclusive.

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And then I sense people view me as stuck-up. And when I do try to engage someone in earnest, you know, to show them somehow that I’m not at all this way, it exhausts me. I wish I could deliver a memo or make an announcement, "I’m not arrogant, I just lack self-confidence." "I’m not uppish, I’m just not my best at these kind events."

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Here’s what I wish I would have told myself over the last score of years instead of trying so hard to change something in me that is, as far as I can see, resistant to change:

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…Lighten up on yourself. Forgive yourself more often, as often as you can. Don’t strain at everything so bloody much. And don’t judge so much. Let every encounter offer its own expression, retain its own personality, be its own offering.

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Don’t reprimand yourself about being solitary, shy, preferring the margins. Remember that there are others like you. You’re not alone. Don’t judge. Receive the blessing of people who are not at all like you. Enjoy.

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And then, don’t feel bad about skipping a session and taking a shuttle to Manhattan Beach, taking off your shoes, rolling up your pants and walking in the surf, watching the pelicans fish, and looking for a perfect purple clam shell to take home to your wife.

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This after all is your true calling. You are called to "consider the lilies."

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Let Your Mercy Spill

I had something like a religious experience on the plane ride to LA. (I’m here for a week long conference) Drifting above the cloud cover, I dialed up a movie on one of those touch screens on the headrest of the seat in front of me. The category I chose was "avant-garde" and among the choices was, Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man.

Banking for approach to LAX
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The film, about Cohen’s life and career, is based on a January, 2005 tribute show at the Sydney Opera House titled "Came So Far For Beauty". Some of the performers included Nick Cave, The Handsome Family, Rufus Wainwright, Martha Wainwright, Kate and Anna McGarrigle, and Cohen’s former back-up singers. The end of the movie includes a performance of "Tower of Song" by Leonard Cohen and U2. In between performances Cohen comments on pieces of his life, and people like Bono make observations about his poetry and music.

I watched the whole thing transfixed, holding my earphones close to my head so as not to miss a note. For me, the highlight…the religious experience, was Cohen’s "If it be Your Will," sung by Antony. Like the voice of a charged cherub singing a deep and brooding Psalm: (And in the middle of the song Cohen ruminates on emanations of beauty.)

If it be your will ’ If there is a choice ’ Let the rivers fill ’ Let the hills rejoice ’ Let your mercy spill ’ On all these burning hearts in hell

If it be your will ’ To make us well ’ And draw us near ’ And bind us tight ’ All your children here ’ In their rags of light

In our rags of light ’ All dressed to kill ’ And end this night ’ If it be your will ’ If it be your will.

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