A Sacred Moment

I slowed my pace as I reached the worn patch of grass that had been my home for the last few innings.
I thought about the fact that this may be my last game this year.
I smelled the grass, the dew.
I peered through the glow of the outfield lights to see the stars watching overhead.

There are few things better than this moment.

I sunk my hand into the wet leather of my glove, smelled the leather, felt it form to my hand as I pulled the velcro strap tight.
I looked over at my teammates. Are they experiencing this moment too?
The light fog, illuminated by the lights reminds me of the shekinah glory. If this isn't the presence of God, I'm not sure what is.

We lost the game, but my soul was pulsating with absolute joy for the rest of the night.

Perhaps its the legacy of an athletic tradition. . . gladiators and swordsmen subjecting themselves to physical hardship for the sake of a game, edifying no more than a metaphor with no less than their own sweat and blood.

Perhaps its the legacy of my own fathers. . . baseball, an American tradition - three generations gathered around a citronella candle, the AM radio hanging upside down at just the right angle, Jack Buck, in his excited mutter, describing the feats and failures of our heroes.

For whatever reason, in that moment, on that field, on that night, without glory, without pomp, without pretense --- baseball was sacred. And it allowed me to play too.

Art Is the Fuel of a Revolution

I ignored music for a while.
-not just music. . . art.
Maybe it's cliche but it keeps me in my place.
-re-evolves me.

• "Institutions, systems, ideologies, and all the vain, futile efforts of humanity that go with them are everywhere, and interaction with all of it is unavoidable. . . be inside or outside all kinds of systems and move freely between and among them. . . be in it and not of it." - William P. Young, The Shack
• The systems are designed to gain power over that which may not be controlled by man.
• There is music in my face --- a soul affected by the music

The music of daily life is worth attention.

Some More Revolutionizing

Where to begin?
where - to - begin?
I knew I wanted-
no
-needed to become a doctor as the gunshots went off at my grandfather's funeral.
As much as I want to deny that that was the turning point, the moment of decision, I can not do so.
That's not to say that his death is what has brought me to this point, but rather just that it was the spark, the initial force behind it.

What has sustained me from that spark to this point? Certainly, the idea of legacy carries me daily as do the principles of the Kingdom.
As yet mostly undeveloped is a good sense of responsiblity to humanity.

That's all for now,
The Revolution

A Rainy Sunday Afternoon

A rainy Sunday afternoon always brings about weird things. Long, drowsy naps, sports on the television, unwatched NASCAR on the next channel and an end to my blogging haiatus. Actually, what brought this on was not a rainy, Sunday afternoon but the revelation that my Dad and Step-mother have discovered The Revolution. (don't tell anyone, but I'd kind of forgotten it existed)
I'm resolving to repurpose the revolution over the next few weeks.
More to come. . . (maybe)