guess what i’m an infj
i think riding on a motorcycle is one of my favorite activities in the world.
^that sentence says a lot about me as a human being and how i have vastly transformed in recent months/years.
i’m not afraid any longer of cuss words and rap music and smoking and drinking and controversy (among other things), aka the grit of humanity. i still get torn up about the way that people deal with their physicality. i still get torn up about the way i deal with my physicality.
there is no us or them. if we believe that we have been given a new identity, no societal division can separate us from one another any longer. Jesus gives us a new identity. it’s radical that even though we run after a million different desires and exist within a million different phases of the cycle of life, we’re never turned down the opportunity to look up at the stars. i believe that knowing about the gospel and believing it to be true is like living inside of a room where everyone is human and doing very human things and it is normal, and there is a ceiling and four walls; then Jesus’ life hits you like a mighty wind and the ceiling falls in and the stars are exposed and suddenly you can see them and the party of humanity around you just doesn’t seem quite as lovely.
i believe that we will always want what is near to us inside of the room. i don’t believe that is wrong. i believe that it is difficult to navigate. choosing to invite others to look at the stars seems, to me, like something that comes without need of judgement or “figuring someone out”. i want everyone i know to see the stars. seeing the stars levels us out, ya know? we’re all the same distance from them and can only reach our hands towards them until our arms are above our heads.
it’s quite abstract and not very precise, my idea of the room with no ceiling. i have a few other ideas of the gospel that i’ve seen painted before my eyes by the Creator. i have very few answers besides knowing that the life and death and resurrection of Jesus changes everything and makes my tiny life mean something. it gives us all the ability to recognize our beauty because we are living and breathing and created and isn’t that who He came for? i believe it is, in fact. the living and breathing and created peoples. us.
i believe in fighting (a verb which doesn’t, in my mind, usually mean violence) for the freedom of the oppressed because Jesus loves the oppressed and his life=their freedom; not because i need to yell at people. sometimes i feel like yelling at people because, maybe if i yell loud enough, people will hear me. and maybe if i yell loud enough, someone who has been plagued by their inability to see the stars will hear me. but Jesus really didn’t do that. he was was more badass than that and gave up his whole life with a whisper that shook up the world endlessly more than any measly yell.
words still feel like constraints to the way that i feel, most of the time. i hurt for the state of humanity. i love humans and existing. i wonder about the big questions that we all wonder about. i don’t know how to express many of those things
i think riding on a motorcycle is one of my favorite activities in the world because (it’s badass, for one) its a little bit dangerous and sometimes i get burned or tears in my eyes, but always, always, the world passes by and the wind blows strong and i end in a different place than i began.
thx, justin vernon, for writing my heart these last few months into a song:
“i don’t know how you house the sin
but you’re free now
i was never sure how much of you i could let in
am i free now
won’t you settle down baby here your love has been
it’s defiantly lava
why you don’t carry other names”
"What happened to your arm?"
"I was walking down the stairs and looking at the stars."
I realized in those experiences that what we’re doing is vitally important. It’s more than just writing a few lines and singing them into microphones. You start by making something that’s true - you whittle your feelings down to their purest shape and you express them with as much sincerity and transparency as is within you. Joni Mitchell described this in an interview once as being a process like peeling apart an onion. You begin by saying something - the first thing you can think of - and as you stare at that thing you’ve just said, you try to see what’s behind it, where it came from, what it looks like now that you’ve said it. And at some point after all this prodding and questioning you arrive at your truest expression. After you’re through, you offer that truth to others. And there’s where it gets the most risky: maybe they don’t need the thing you’re expressing. But you do it anyway, and when someone needs it you realize why you did it at all.
do i go see Hozier, Alt-j, or Bombay Bicycle Club (<—- for the second time)?