On ginger nuts

“I want to take a stance ’cause we are not free

And then I thought about it, we are not “we”

Am I on the outside looking in, or am I in the inside looking out?”

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (White Privilege II)

These lyrics are dancing at the forefront of my mind, but whether they have any relevance to the following information is yet to be seen.

Hello 2018, I hope you’re nice, although I can never believe that whimsical positivity about a date change can prevail against the historical proof of human weakness and failure. But it’s true, since the new year, I have been assessing many of my fundamental values. This is the start of a list, with no definite end, and an unclear order of priorities –

1. I like tea

2. I like ginger nuts

3. I like dunking ginger nuts in tea

4. Ginger nuts are the best biscuit to dunk in tea

Point number four was contended by an outrageous claim in a family quiz that fig biscuits were in fact superior. This has since been debunked as a fact, and labelled “fake news” by all other parties present.

While on the topic, one measurable lifestyle change is that my controlled intake of four ginger nuts per day has mysteriously been redefined as four ginger nuts per cup of tea. While remaining delicious, this throws in question which of my other strong disciplines will unravel. I’m still committed to refraining from dancing on public transport, for the greater good.

Moving from sustenance to another major aspect of my existence; the arts, and more specifically film. Early on in the year, I realised an over indulgence in martial arts movies was weakening my grip on reality, and also distorting my perception of how the laws of physics actually work. Several brutal thrillers later, a sharp increase in how frequently I checked the doors at night was noted. While there is no scientific record, estimates land at an average of “around ten checks per night, maybe more if the subject were to fully admit his subconscious terror.” A temporary balance has been restored, by only viewing movies rated 12 or below, or with spontaneous singing.

5. Ninjutsu is beyond

6. I am not beyond the control of gravity

7. If the door was locked, and I haven’t unlocked it, it is still locked

8. GET IN BED YOU DAMN FOOL

I wish I could say I’m working towards a logical conclusion, but unfortunately you’re catching my brain at the peak of its processing power, and also its helplessness. All this is the result of an epiphany I had almost two months ago, which was the realisation that a career in music therapy may be the next best step. This gave rise to an unfamiliar element to my life: purpose.

Since the start of my degree, I’ve always felt distinctly uncomfortable in my native environment, meaning I’ve not belonged in the place I’ve spent the most time. So my goal has never been what I’ve been physically doing, but what I’ve been spiritually seeking: a constant, Holyspirit shower.

But now my destination is situated somewhere removed from the immediate present, or his presence. It has physical form, which changes my brain chemistry, and more significantly, the chemistry of my relationship with Jesus. Is it acceptable to find satisfaction in a dream, or is that too far removed from him? It’s the most diabolically metaphorical love triangle imaginable.

Now my life is beginning to resemble a cliche, and my eternal dental floss has just run out after six months of use (I was convinced it was being replenished supernaturally). I’m slowly beginning to question my previous approach to his presence. Was there ever a “me and him”, where there was enough separation for the concept of an “I” without “another”? Or was it always “we”, with his spirit inextricable from my life, regardless of my focus or desires?

“I want to take a stance ’cause we are not free.

And then I thought about it, we are not “we”.

Am I on the outside looking in, or am I in the inside looking out?”

A moment of clarity

Much of life being spent preparing to record my pieces for my music therapy auditions. Is such a feat achievable in this timeframe? Is Beethoven’s grumpiness exaggerated by history? I hope to find the answer to at least one of these questions.

A few days ago, I had an unexpected moment of clarity, when time seems to stop still – a kairos for any Greek fanatics. I was in the throes of panic trying to engineer a way to get a medical evaluation form filled out for the application, when my old GP had apparently deleted any memory of me, and my subconscious hadn’t quite got round to registering with a more local one in the past two years.

I came home briefly, before running uphill to end the medical calamity. In the kitchen were two things that had arrived for me: a grade four violin book, and a refund for a train ticket. The book was from the period when I first learned, but I’d borrowed my teacher’s at the time, and now I needed it to practice my second instrument.

When I opened the envelopes, they released an almost ethereal sense of balance over me. The refund brought a minor sense of justice, but it was predominantly the music. The mere sight of the cover design almost transported me outside my senses, and gave me pause for thought. Unfortunately I had to charge out of the door thirty seconds later, to avert all my future dreams from being scuppered.

Upon reflection, in that moment, Jesus revealed his presence to me, not just in how I was preparing in my present, but as to how he’d been teaching me in the past, even as I was unaware. The music book was almost acting as a gateway to three places; my past and present, which I had and was experiencing. And now also my future. Not to say the notes were a seal of success, but a reminder that I could continue going forward, to make what is currently unknown, known.

Redefine

Five seconds ago, I decided two words will now form my new basis for interpreting the world. I don’t know or care if these words currently exist, because my limitless creativity doesn’t have time for issues like that.

Subreal – the normal state of affairs which experience has taught us to expect. While often mildly disappointing, repeated failures have taught us to accept this as the status quo. For example, “Stuart woke up, and he became overwhelmed as he realised how subreal his day-to-day life was. This induced a surreal feeling of nausea.”

Supereal – the ideal, dream realm that we want to live in, but have never truly believed is achievable since the age of seven. While this currently resides in our imagination, it desperately wants to break into our mundane routine. “But, decisively swallowing all rising stomach acids, Stuart fixed his eyes on the supereal. One day, he would earn 22k a year, and all his problems would evaporate. Accordingly, he fell on his knees and prayed to the God of heaven.”

Obviously, there is the possibility to extend these concepts beyond the form of nouns. Currently considering starting a new branch of philosophy: subrealism vs superealism. Applications will open soon, but there will be an initial, £50 administration charge.

Before the intellectual world gets destroyed by shockwaves of revelation, I’ll explain the unique set of circumstances which birthed this revolution. For the past few days I’ve been sick, especially on Thursday. This meant that my innocent decision to eat tomato soup resulted in significant, digestive upheaval. I they lay in bed for an interminable amount of time, both fatigued, and slightly shocked at having vomited for the first time in eight years.

During this lapse, I realised that my inactivity seemed to be having little effect on my long-term goals. While I had to miss a day of work, by focusing on simple tasks, like cleaning my teeth, I was able to see past my illness. This made it bearable, even though spending most of Friday deciding whether or not to watch Pacific Rim isn’t the most productive use of time.

Being so focused on how I’m using every moment to it’s maximum capacity, I often forget how a positive mindset is crucial to achieving real change and process. While I can’t mooch in my bed forever, I don’t feel like my life has been catastrophically hampered by this ordeal. Maybe it’s best when reflection occurs naturally, rather than in engineered coffee stops.

Back to basics

Spent most of last Saturday curled up in a ball on the floor of an overcrowded train carriage, on my way to and from my brother’s birthday celebrations; I wonder if my spinal column will ever recover from the damage. However, due to a sudden illness, we were deprived the key ingredient of his company. In his absence, I was still overwhelmed by the constant presence of football fans, in every location I visited, at all times.

For the first time in years, I’ve been properly practicing my instruments, in preparation for an audition to a music course I want to apply to. Flashbacks to hours spent as a child sat in front of a piano, especially during Sixth Form, where all my free time would be devoted to music. I’ve grown so used to playing piano standing up, it’s fascinating how different it is sitting down, and how much easier certain techniques are.

I happened to read Revelation 7 a few days ago. Amongst various praise explosions is the phrase, “The Lamb will be their shepherd; he will lead them to streams of loving water.” This reminded me of the famous Psalm 23, which David wrote.

I think many people view heaven as a destination, but the emphasis in this passage is a future journey. It says in Psalm 102, “The heavens are the work of your hands… They will all wear out like a garment. Like clothing you will change them and they will be discarded.” So what many people consider to be the final page, to God is a worn-out pair of jeans.

In a description of the end of all creation is this phrase about a revelation of worship David had thousands of years ago. I don’t know why such large demonstrations of pain and bloodshed in the time that lies between are necessary to grasp such a simple concept.

Patterns

Over the past few weeks, I’ve discovered one of my favourite pastimes is finding patterns, something I’m so fond of I can find little time to do anything else. Every experience, thought and feeling I have undergoes rigorous testing and interrogation, in the hope of answering the question: “Why has this happened, to me, right now, and how should I react?”

This enquiry is so inherent in my thought processes, it’s taken me ages to realise that it exists, and also that such analysis is not carried out by every member of our species. Recently, measuring how my future spirituality, career, friendships and relationships should pan, and trying to draw them into a coherent entity has taken up almost all my energy. As this has been mostly internal, it’s been extremely difficult to communicate this externally. How can you tell someone that you’re assessing the fundamental values of everything you hold dear, when even your preferred methods of communication are being thrown into doubt?

The other evening, I asked myself for the first time, “What if there isn’t a pattern?” It’s true, many things that happen to us are meaningless, at least in the sense that they had no positive or negative intent. I don’t believe in a supernatural, micromanaging deity, or people are always trying to exert influence over any other person or situation. The majority of the countless actions and gestures that are enacted each and every moment of every day, are no more than random occurrences.

But such a train of thought can only lead to apathy. However trivial day-to-day life may appear, I want to capture every possible moment of beauty available. The mundane can be constantly surprising. Even though I walk the same route into town every time, I am consistently surprised and overwhelmed by small details: facial expressions, the curves of roads, building aesthetics, and the sun shining through trees.

Conversely, I have also found times of artistic immersion, such as trips to the cinema, and album listening sessions, to be not only enjoyable, but essential. Such periods allow me to realign myself to what is most important. In the same way it’s important not to live in a fairy tail, I don’t want to stop hoping for the perfect ideal.

Reboot

For whatever reason, I don’t usually catch colds, but due to an unfortunate combination of circumstances, for the past few days I’ve been a constant vessel of infection and nasal spray. At times like, this only the most basic rules apply. If sleep doesn’t work, drink honey with warm water. Failing that, Lucozade. After that, my eyes are watering, not only with feverish tears, but those of sorrow. I refuse to resort to painkillers.

It was annoying, because until Saturday, I had the highest amount of control over my busyness for a long time. Then a day of work followed by a late-night worship event three everything off course. Partnered with a ready meal for tea, the stage was set for disaster, a so had to get up really early for morning worship at church. This was followed by an outdoor McDonalds lunch. I’m very attached to my gilet, but at six degrees, this was one scenario it was not created for. 

I do wonder about how much emphasis we put on our emotions when we play worship, though. Surely the time sacrifices I make, not just in the present, but all the hours of practice in my past, far outweigh any ecstatic feeling I may or may not feel in the moment?

There have been a few glorious moments, although it is sometimes difficult to discern between a passing of the spirit, and a hot flush. The highest of these was when I purchased a new notebook and diary, at the same time. Such an unprecedented shopping spree. A bright orange journal with “Reboot” written on it spoke to me, as well as an Alice in Wonderland diary.

Decided to write down my general life goals, all of which can be summed up by my desire for universal, megalomaniacal rule. It’s interesting how the designs and format of all my notebooks reflects on what general state my mind is in for that period. In my last one, I was writing down my thoughts in short lines, and turning over the page whenever I moved onto a slightly different topic. While wasting a lot of paper, that helped me achieve some separation between thoughts that merge so easily. This new one has no lines, so endless open spaces for my tyrannical intellect.

Break the seal

Lately my life has been following the predictable cycle of lamenting how much social interaction I have to endure, pushing through this and actually enjoying it, then listening to electronica music in my spare time to wrap myself in a mood. After a strong, two-year stint, my music taste’s pop phase has just past its peak. Thank you Lady Gaga for starting this wild, wild journey, but now Lorde has enlightened me. 

It was after the fifth successive play of her Melodrama album that I experienced a pure worship moment, the kind I spend my whole life seeking, and then instantly strategising afterwards. I heard Jesus say, “Break the seal.” This provoked two thoughts:

“Why can’t he speak to me in normal words?”

“Dammit, looks like I’m going to have to read Revelation again.”

I saw a scroll that unfurled, and out of it came ribbons. I felt the scroll represented the order I expect, and assume, that life and certain scenarios will follow. But Holyspirit said that instead of a certain progression, or end point, he wanted me to aim towards a different target. The ribbons were symbolic of reaching unity with other people, rather than completing the scroll, on which was written what I thought should happen. By this point I was seriously confused, so resorted to the imagery contained in Naruto to help me.

Scrolls and seals are used often in the anime, and are linked to power. Power struggles, placement of power and increase in capacity are all themes that spring to my mind. Often, when a character uses a scroll, breaks a seal, or both, what follows is a release of energy or technique far beyond the expected, or their usual capacity.

Then underwent the uncomfortable act of reading Revelation. After ploughing through plenty of death, destruction, and questionable metaphors, I reached one, relevant conclusion. When a scroll opens, God is showing humanity a new level of spirituality. What follows is hard to imagine or cope with, because there is no previous frame of reference to deal with it.

How do these concepts merge? Not entirely sure yet, but keep praying, “Break the seal.” Maybe I’ll suddenly obtain the power of a sage, or go on a horseback rampage. But it definitely ties in with my need to have a different perspective, or insight, into my everyday.

The world is not corrupt

I’ve spent the last few days visiting home and relatives, trying to fathom if a satisfying existence is possible with intermittent internet connectivity. Still undecided, but heading back to the 4G soup of the north, so shouldn’t suffer any long-term damage.

Visiting my Grandma is always an experience, as she’s now staying in an old people’s home, and suffers from some of the classic issues associated with that stage of life. Don’t worry, this isn’t an emotional splurge of confusion, but rather a heartless examination of the human lifecycle. 

My main struggle with these trips is not having the patience to converse with someone with a few less marbles than average, but dealing with the complete lack of priority the physical realm has in these environments. In these pockets, it’s perfectly regular to sit in a chair all day and do nothing. Apart from contradicting society’s busyness, it also forces me to ask: “Is what I base my life pursuing, beauty, nature and form, worthless?”

Examining the human life cycle, I’ve found it quite symbolic. Starting in purity and simplicity, we grow older, and start overcomplicating and losing touch with the real. But before this gets too out of hand, we regress, forgetting all but a few of these details, and becoming more simplified.

At life’s beginning and end, being over doing is not so much a conscious ordering of priority, but a dictum of nature. Close to the milestones of birth and death, attachment to the physical, individuality and defining character traits seem weak, superceded instead by and intuitive understanding of the spiritual.

The traditional approach to the real-world is therefore to label it as corrupt, inherently evil in some way, as if it distracts from any kind of purity. But I’m convinced that art, nature and music all provide handholds on to intangible truths. It must be possible to process life, and assimilate what happens, in a way that enlightens instead of pollutes. 

Brahms said, “It is not hard to compose, but what is fabulously hard is to leave the superfluous notes under the table.”

Having attained revelation by watching Naruto, listening to Lady Gaga, and starting endlessly at the sea, I can vouch for the fact that these art and physical forms are jot impure, but refer to something eternal. But it’s easy to reject something thoughtlessly because it offends what we think is right; a swear word, or alien concept.

Instead of drowning in an overindulgence of experience, we can assess each one, and hold onto anything they carry that can edify us.

Public service announcement

This is a public service announcement, with regards to the daily updates. The definition of “daily” is now more fluid, and may be interpreted as every other day, sometimes, when I can be bothered, or when I have something interesting to say. This decision has come straight from head office, to provide the main character of said stories with the necessary space to think without expectation, that he often desperately needs.

October 30th (pilgrim)

Walked through Peace Gardens to say farewell to Sheffield: fear not, I will yet grace your shining streets. Received a true sampling of the joys of our Great British railway. Numerous delays all combined, meaning I had the time to listen to three full albums, a previously unimaginable feat. Who is Mika, the reincarnation of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury? Sounds like Les Miserables set to a pop candy land soundtrack.

After enduring a classic Morecambe bus journey, and restraining myself from engaging in fisticuffs with some loud teenagers, I reached home, and the comfort of soup and scones. Went on a walk to Heysham Head to reset my spiritual compass. This was hardly the pilgrimage I’d hoped for, as the grass was being cut. Sat on a bench in the graveyard and fell asleep. When I awoke, the lawnmowers were nowhere to be seen, but the perpetual youth still remained. 

Long discussions after tea about various forms of the body of Christ. I’d had enough of music, so decided to read the bible, but lay for too long in a darkened room reflecting, and now feel sleepy.