And on the third day...

I am really beginning to wonder how this is supposed to work.

Is it really helpful for me just to spew my thoughts to cyberspace and pretend that someone's listening? Should blog replace journal? You, dear reader (if I am to dare address you as such), are experiencing not just the days thoughts and reflections, but are listening to a wandering soul who is wondering: Just what IS a blog?

Should I tell them every detail? ...or just one thought of the day?
Do I bare my real concerns, fears, toxic thoughts that need healing? ...or do I make this a place of "imparting wisdom"? (what wisdom, son?)
Is the place to sum up the day or welcome in the dreams of tomorrow?
Can a blog be a 'web' 'log' like Jean Luc Picard's "Captain's Log"? Yes, friends, that was a Star Trek reference.
And just WHO is my AUDIENCE???

THAT, right there, is what I Must. Know. Till then, this blog is just a riddle shot like a bullet straight in the air. Figure me out! I dare you! Take these words and dissect me! But who's out there??? Who am I talking to??? Who are YOU?

Until I know...

Dear God of cyberspace, my unseen, ever-listening, all-too-honest friend, please enjoy my stories and whisper to that small place just inside my ear, "Your day was worth something."

I walked the forty-five minute journey to the theatre today. Quite the story, I know. ...But here's one thing I noticed: just outside the building christened "Beauty School," were two trees coming out of the pavement. You know what I mean: one of the squares of concrete had been removed so a little "green" could exist on the city sidewalks. Charming. Right? Well, around these trees, where dirt or small flowers should have been was instead: astroturf. Fake grass was the Beauty School's solution to the problem of dirt around their trees.

A philosophy on life, perhaps: if it ain't pretty, cover it up with somethin fake. Make up, astroturf, doesn't matter! Just cover up the dirt.

I shook my head and walked on.

Today was more of the same: wonderfully raw human connection. There were eleven people around our table today (which just so happened to be in the middle of the stage where this is gonna be performed) and we picnicked through this play. Laughter, tears, jokes, anger; we were com-passion today.

I wish the Church talked about humanity with the same love that my co-creators do. I wish the body of Christ would talk about making love and making bread with the same openness, giving honor to the prayer-acts of this life that people live out every day. I wish that the Church would take the time to understand people - to Stand Under people - in the way that our cast has joined in the suffering of Oni Feida Lampley. We honor this woman's legacy by diving into every doctor's office, evening with the kids, tender moment with her Momma, and join with her, traversing the path of suffering. She loses herself to the cancer. And I don't mean this like "she lost the battle with cancer" even though she ultimately did; I mean she surrendered to her path, the Path God set before her since time immemorial, and she learned to Love in her situation. Her last line breathes acceptance, surrender, Peace. When she accepts she has no wisdom, she breaks through to Wisdom itself. And no! It's not. that. deep. But all day I was confronted with "Zak, what have you given up? What do you give up on a regular basis? You have your health, your body, your energy, your living expenses paid for, no college debt looming over your head, a life full of people who love you, and what? What, Zak, are you surrendering? What will it take for you to learn how to pray as this woman, Angie, Oni, did? Have you really accepted who you are? Or are you still blindly searching?" The questions, come, unrelenting from the small voice inside.

I think we all have our own set of uncomfortable questions, these self-made realities that lurk unseen till some brutal force makes us confront them. We all have demons. Am I accepting myself? And even so, is that the ultimate path to freedom? Self-acceptance? What about Christ -- where does He fit in this picture? Jesus is God dying to Self, and being raised to the right hand of the Father, the ultimate example of dying to Self and being glorified because of it. It's hard to name in myself what part of the path I'm on right now: should I accept myself or pour myself out for others? Or is that myself, this 'pouring out'? To Name my own shortcomings and strengths so I can accept them is... difficult. But, Zak. Seriously? Get over yourself. It's not actually all about you.

There you go, reader: what this play - only two days in - is already doing to me.

Confession: I regret I became a bit of a Christian contender today. A loud-mouth of the faith. Great work, Zak. The kind that gives evangelicals, Christians, just people in general a bad name. And the root of it? I stopped listening. I tried to be 'right' in a world where what's 'right' is the woman in front of you, speaking her heart. I repent. The Church of the Magic Theatre is teaching me... by not judging me even when I am judgmental.

So. I stop. Sit. Listen to the sound of dogs' paws in the wet grass of Fort Mason park. I take a nap under the warm sun and my even warmer scarf, even as the angrily cold wind tries to take a bite out of my cheek. I sigh, deeply, and... smell. Suddenly, strangers passing become visible, and not just their bodies but their stories, their reasons for passing in that park today. They become important, regal, human. I begin to see: the Other.

Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy.

Amen.