Friday, January 31, 2014

Hwy 56

Good day my brothers and sisters,
Since this is my first blog, I have yet to find a balance of the amount of personal information to share. Questions arise in my mind every time I think of ways to start a post. How much emotion should I convey? Should I mention family members in my posts? What remarks should I post from past conversations without offending them? These are all questions that sensible bloggers ask themselves, yet this subject is all a matter of opinion. Being a truth seeker is a tough job, maybe that’s why Protestant pastors/priests/reverends are listed as one of the hardest jobs in America. I think we are all called to be truth seekers, and this makes all of our lives difficult. How do we tell the difference between a statement of opinion and truth? I am constantly seeking the truth, and I hope I find it by writing out some of my thoughts.

On another note….

I have been doing some traveling the last few weeks due to my upcoming departure from the states. Two weeks ago I visited a few very good friends in Lawrence, KS. The route I had to take was not my normal route; I had to make a stop in Hutchinson to remove the last traces of equipment from my mouth that were used during brace face period. The appointment caused little longer drive, which is normally annoying, but this time it was a blessing. Some Kansans find Kansas to be dreary state in the winter; the leaves are gone and the wind is bitter cold, yet I believe there is beauty in every setting. Highway 56 provided a setting to reveal this secret beauty that snowless Kansas winter days can bring. This beautiful site also provides a beautiful backdrop to contemplative thoughts. 56 broke my belief that finding the quickest route to a destination is always the best. I think my realization can be paralleled with the statement, “stop and smell the roses”, and this type of realization will not be my last. I always seem to be distracted by work, school, and more work; my friends in Lawrence always find a way to break the cycle. As humans, we always need reminders that life can’t be set with a cruise control button on I-70.
My nights in Lawrence were spent playing board games and catching up on all the latest adventures of my favorite newlywed couple. I really enjoy seeing their marriage progress, and I am truly lucky to be part of their lives. Some notable hours of my week included our visit to Benedictine College in Atchison. We went to Mass and Vespers at the college’s campus church.  I have always enjoyed the calm setting that Catholic services offer. Vespers was a relaxing session of prayer and worship music shared with my best friends and a handful of Benedictine monks. The monks displayed compassion and acceptance when they heard that our little group are not members of the Catholic Church. I believe all Catholics and non-Catholics have the ability to display this type of acceptance. Maybe this is why I have always been interested in Catholicism. However, the denominational nature of Christianity didn’t distract from the truly serene experience that our little group witnessed.

Fast forward a few days…

I am lying in my grandparent’s guest bedroom trying to rehash a disturbing dream that my neuro pathways generated while I was sleeping. The dream took first took place in a parlor in some indistinguishable location, it was a tip of the tongue location and will probably always remain as that. The parlor contained individuals I haven’t seen since graduating high school, and all of them seemed to be grieving about a recent death. I am unable to remember the deceased person. In the dream, I am transported to a very large church; its design looked to be inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, or maybe it was a Frank Lloyd Wright building.
In front of the altar laid the deceased person, and next to the casket was a cloistered nun. The nun began to summon the spirit of the deceased person, and a green image in the shape of person began to form over the casket. The image was similar to the entity that Gene Roddenberry wrote into this episode “Sub Rosa” in the seventh season of Star Trek: The Next Generation (please take my word for this description and do not see this episode of Trek…it is one of the worst episodes).
The nun began to inhale the green gaseous substance/entity, by this point in the dream I was yelling at people in the congregation to do something, but they turned to me with white pupilless eyes and blank expressions that sent shivers through my hippocampus, embedding the dream into my long-term memory. In my dream, I began to make my way to the exit of this “church” after becoming very uncomfortable.

I awoke.

          For the next hour I laid in bed wondering what the dream meant. Dreams can be confusing and disorienting, especially if they involve religion and anything sexual. I wish I could hop into a Holodeck and talk to Sigmund Freud about my dreams; unfortunately I only have his writings.

          After making my way around the state to see family and friends that are basically family; I am happy to spend the next few days talking to Steele Lester and his human family. For now, I hope the sun comes out and the wind stops blowing, so I can get a final round of disc in. 

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Happy Tuesday my brothers and sisters, 
I will start my blog off with an introduction of myself. My name is Jakob Whitson, and I am one of 7,143,498,539 people in this world as of 3:00 PM. One might feel insignificant when viewing the world by the amount of people it contains, but I think we are all special, even if one of our brothers or sisters lives in a card board box outside Balloons & More in the windless entryway in Pratt, KS (FYI there is no one currently living outside B&M in Pratt, KS), but if there was I hope one of their brothers or sisters would help them out. 
Back to my introduction, I am a 22 year old male about 5'11" tall with a less than interesting coiffure, but if you talk to me I might say something captivating. I am the product of a small south central Kansas town of 7,000 people, or better known as a small town 70 miles west of Wichita,KS. And two loving parents. We are products of our hometowns because the "assembly line" we are put through during our preadolescence molds our thoughts and actions for the rest of lives, which is helpful in some aspects and retrospectively annoying in others. I will probably mention the conditioning techniques we are put through in the "assembly line" in later posts. 
I am currently living with my two loving parents, my little sister, and a playful kitty, although I was attending Kansas State University, and I was a year out from graduating, and I was making the trek to becoming a somewhat model citizen, but that ended a little over a month ago. Being a model citizen has advantages, but it also has disadvantages. My life started to change a couple years before this, but I will focus more on the recent past. 
Back track two months and I can see myself living a double life, which I think is present in many humans. One side wanted to immediately follow the word of Jesus, and the other side wanted to put that off for a while. One side wanted to live a life of voluntary poverty similar to Franciscan monks or even Capuchin monks, while the other wanted to finish college and pay off government funded loans. The tau cross or the dollar bill (can we follow both?). I chose the former with my knees bent and my eyes toward the cosmos. 
My decision came after attending Manhattan Mennonite Church for a few weeks, and learning of all the opportunities that are available through the many groups that MMC supports. One of the biggest organizations that MMC supports is the Mennonite Central Committee. I decided to look on their website to familiarize myself with some of the projects they were currently doing/advertising. My attention was gravitating towards long term mission work, maybe this was due to a fireside conversation with a few loving friends. I found a project that was two years long and would be located in Bolivia. I always had an interest in South America after taking a couple of years of Spanish in high school. The project was located in Bolivia and was part of an ongoing project called SEED. I decided to apply, but the due date for the applications was the next day, so I decided to focus on school, it wasn't meant to be. 
That following weekend, after suffering a few hours of frustration from assignments that I thought were bogus, I decided to explore MCC's website again. I noticed Bolivia SEED was still listed on their interface; they had extended the due date two weeks. I am skeptical of signs, but maybe this was one, so I decided to apply. A couple weeks later and two interviews down, I was hopeful that I might be selected. I was eventually told that I was not selected, which wasn't too much of a shock, but I was more upset with the continuation of my easy life as a college student. There was still the Manhattan Emergency Shelter, loving friends, and systematic learning; life is full of beautiful complex imagery. The dove, olive branches, and all of Thomas Merton’s radiating faces.
Two weeks later and several Platonic readings down, I was asked by MCC to make a trip to Bolivia. I was informed in a room surrounded by glass panes and the smell of wheat and soy beans permeating the air around my flared nostrils. I waited a few days to tell them I would go even though I could have made the decision in a millisecond. The next few weeks consisted of finals and a load of paperwork.
As I type a flight of pigeons furiously peck at the oil stained concrete at a rate similar to the typing of my computer keyboard, and my thoughts simultaneously focused on the adventure I am about to embark on a week from now. My thoughts are soon transported back to the interior of the warm coffee shop I am sitting in, and all of the small tasks I have yet to complete before I can depart. I take a deep breath and say a small prayer; every task yet to be completed disappears into the brisk Kansas wind.