Jack Burton Told Me Beggars Can't Be Choosers

I've often wondered what will fill the final moments of my life. More than likely some crunching noise, 70-feet of water, or a semi-rhythmic beeping and soft, sterile florescence. This is probably reality.

However . . .

. . . lets say, as a divine, grand gesture, the power that is allows me a little creative freedom with my end. In other words, I can choose my last sights, sounds, thoughts and emotions.

The following is a semi-random assortment of 5 collision moments as described in my last post. They are the film like moments that we look back to and our gut aches as we remember each detail of our senses at those exact moments.

a) This Will Destroy You - The Mighty Rio Grande
Whatever senses i have that tell me i am alive explode as i scramble the 30 feet to the crest of the wave. I turn just as time slows almost to nonexistent. A stiff off-shore breeze begins to fill my lungs with warm, deceptively placid air one last time. From my watery throne I look from one side of the bay to the other. The whole 1/2 mile is beginning to fold in on itself with brave me in the direct path of its natural course. I smile and whimper. A true reaction of humility. Time decides it again wants to be a part of my life, and begins to make up for what it lost in a curling detonation. My warm, watery throne is now a placental coffin as it buries my used body in its tumultous depths. The entire Pacific is then above me as the hand of some almost unknowable diety reaches down and says "here is where your proud hawaiian waves halt." I want to know that i am small and that somewhere in the dark cold is purpose beyond what i can create. For the next 30 minutes i sit on a bench waiting for a bus that will not come today. I eventually hitch-hike for only the second time in my life.

b) The Editors - Well Worn Hand
I feel the warm wind of Tecate as i ride amongst her mountainside shacks in the back of a F-10, tasting dirt, and watching Carmello grow small. The little, almost blind Mexican man says little and simply waves as we leave him atop his lonesome hill. Even as his figure disappears behind a ridge, i realize that beautiful Carmello will die alone. Later, as i try in vain to find a lock for his house, i come to the conclusion that nothing i can do can keep him safe. My hands are too small.

c) Mason Jennings - How Deep is That River
I am the little boy i will always be as my father and i weather the lightening storm of the rockies. He simply tells me that "we will make it down," and i'm forever 5-years-old looking up at a man who represents God. 12,000 feet, unbridled wind, and the sense that i could vomit from altitude sickness at any moment make for an especially long evening. Our tent bellows and expands, an asmatic's only functioning lung. I alternate between staying hunkered down in my warm cacoon of a sleeping bag and sitting straight up, staring into the moving dark. Daylight and the possiblity of seeing my wife are an eternity away, visible only as a small light in a window held open by my father. He always had strong arms.

d) Radiohead - Videotape
My stomach churns a little as my parents drive me to St. Thomas to see my friend who has just been in a car accident. I pretend it means nothing. Dad parks the car as my mom and i walk through the automatic doors of the ER and begin to make the left down the hallway which we were directed. I then see my friend's father standing before the doors, arms crossed, and eyes stained. My walk slows and i can't quite make it too him. My mom does and at that moment, that same moment that i just cannot seem to take another step, i hear, "We've lost him Jane. We've lost our boy." Innocencse and hope died in a car-wreck 2 hours ago. Somehow my back manages to find the cold hospital wall and i slide down its sterile surface to meet the well-travled floor. I can only cry. We were 18 and immortal. We were Peter Pan and now its time to grow up, put on a suit, and help carry the casket. This loss, this permanent soul vacancy is now the singular moment that will help define everything that is to come. It is the hollowness of death that will give berth to life.

e) Wheat - Body Talk (Part 2)
The feel of her hand in mine as i stand atop Sunset Cliffs, her scent mingling with the mineral smell of the pacific as it washes up from the cascading waves upon the lava rock. All the fire of heaven departs in a slow blaze of a hundred reds, purples and oranges as this burning life-giver fades into the mighty western ocean. I cannot remember any other emotion than complete and utter peace. The kind of peace that only comes from being wholly aware that you are alive at that one moment and what came before that moment and what will follow does not matter. Right now all that matters is right now.

Philosophical Physics as Taught by the Supersession of an Old Testament Priest

For Ed and Collin, who wasted no time in answering back from the void. The following ramblings are for you.



Better Than Ezra is a 90's-to-present band whose single greatest album in my humble yet right opinion is How Does Your Garden Grow (A Series of Nocturnes). This album is their most experimental both in lyrical subject matter and musical composition. Vibraphone, Rhodes pianos, and the flowing cadence of Kevin Griffin unite to form a truly beautiful 58 minutes and 25 seconds of music. An aural testament to the 9th decade of the last century not to mention a cultural anchor for my pre-twenties self. This all is significant for one simple reason: Track 10 is titled Particle.

While i assume that this song is about the subject's drug use, it's very title has inspired my philosophy for all of human interaction.

Something in me believes that we (humanity) are all colliding particles in the ever expanding nuclear fission of life. We careen about this crazy thing we call life (ie. space and time; ignited by birth, no less), bumping into one another in seemingly the most random of instances, and whether we care to admit it or not, we exchange a part of ourselves in this interaction. Call it a collision.



We are altered (be it subtle or otherwise) by this collision, and as we hurtle towards forthcoming particles we carry with us all the evidence of our past collisions. Over time these collisions begin to shape us and define us whether for better or worse. They begin to make us who and why we are. And even though all collisions shape us, as our ever-maturing life continues its outward expansion, a select few colliding moments stand out as significant.

Now it is important to note that the duration time of a collision is irrelevant. All that matters is the intensity with which we particles have collided. Decades or mere seconds, it really does not matter. A collision lasting 2 minutes with the right particle (person, just to keep the metaphor clear) can leave you changed far more than years mildly bumping into others.

These unique collisions have special meaning because of their impact. How hard they hit us. These are all the pungent memories that, love them or hate them, we just cannot shake. They are sliding down the hospital wall because you can no longer stand after realizing that your friend in the next room is mortal. They are 40 hours without sleep as you and your wife just cant wait to see Times Square. They are the warmth and peace of home. They are driving at midnight with a friend through middle Tennessee as snow slowly begins to descend on the windshield.

Each one of these moments is an impacting collision with unique particle. And even if that particle is passing into the truly unknown we still feel their impact by their very vacancy. I guess sometimes we do not even notice a collision until the other particle is leaving us.

My point is this: the very memory of these collisions can instantly return the sights, smells, thoughts and emotions to us, thus signifying their impact and weight in our lives. All of these sensory reminders are wonderful, but they are only present in our memory because a collision took place. And for a collision to take place it means another particle has to be present.

And this is what it means, particle.

To run the human race.

To be a particular human. (i don't even know if that's a pun)

To PARTICIPATE.

We are ugly and we are messy. We are wide-eyed and insatiably curious. We are amazingly creative and yet we destroy just about anything we touch (i believe that is called the rise and fall of civilization, which has been going on for quite sometime now). However, when its all said and done, we are simply a bunch of particles colliding with one another, forming this beautiful explosion called life.

Join me for my next entry as i wax articulate about my last few moments of life. Frankly i'm banking on a mental film featuring a montage of several unique collisions, backed by a sound track of my choosing, and directed by Michael Mann.

And that's life . . . what can i tell you. - Anthony Hopkins, Meet Joe Black

If I could do it again
I'd make more mistakes
I'd not be so scared of falling

If I could do it again,
I'd climb more trees
I'd pick and I'd eat more wild
blackberries

(Give me moments)
Just give me moments (give me moments)
Not hours or days (give me moments)
Just give me moments (give me moments)
- Bloc Party, Waiting for the 7:18

Songs That Remind Me of California Pt. 1

Push Your Head Towards The Air - The Editors

If I lay face down on the ground
Would you walk all over me?
Have we learned what we set out to learn?
Well come home, we will see

Now don't drown in your tears babe
Push your head towards the air
Now don't drown in your tears babe
I will always be there

When you fall and you can't find your way
Push your hand up to the sky
I will run just to, to be by your side
Don't you ever bat an eye

Now don't drown in your tears babe
Push your head towards the air
Now don't drown in your tears babe
I will always be there

But I will tear the prize from your hand
Keep you from harm, that's what you said
There's people climbing out of their cars
Lining the roadside, trying to glimpse at the dead

Now don't drown in your tears babe
Push your head toward the air
Now don't drown in your tears babe
I will always be there

Sometimes you gotta go . . .

So, according to the "Posted Date" on my last blog, it has been 7 months since I last posted anything on here. In that time I have left my career, my wife lost her job, and we are both currently floundering in that lovely sea of purposelessness. This is not a bad thing. Nor is it a good thing. It just is a thing. And while this thing is still hanging around I figure I might as well work out some of my frustrations, hopes and fears on this wonderfully articulate exercise known as "blogging."



First off let me state that previously I used this blog as a connecting point for my supporters (I was a missionary for those who are just joining in) and a staging point for some of my thoughts. When I decided to leave my job at the mission organization behind last October I figured that I had also left behind the need for this blog.

Well, 7 months and many late nights wondering "what the H is going on?" later I realized that this blog will always be necessary. This is how I process my world. This blog is how I attempt to make this crazy, fallen place we call Earth make sense. And more than that this is my shot in the dark. This is my attempt at contacting other lifeforms that want to participate in this conversation called life. This is the hope that someone out there maybe reading this and connect with the material enough to respond. I am Emilio Sandoz.