there's more than telly, dan

my Redeemer is changing me

2006-12-20T01:49:00.000+11:00

praise be to God. not just that he has ever so graciously blessed me with passing my finals (!!), but that he has been changing me to be more like Jesus. knowing him more deeply is like a cool stream in the burning desert of my loneliness - my relationship with my God is dimming the desires of this body i live in this side of Home. not that he is making me into a frumpy beige asensate person - instead, he is renovating and restoring my heart, unscrambling all the mess, re-making me into the man he made me to be - his child, pure, holy, his. and whilst i know that this work will not be completed here, there is this indescribable awe and joy to feel him at work in me. and i tremble because i know that "he who began a good work in [me] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" (phil 1).

but that is also why i haven't been posting - i know that i am a weak, fallen, sinful man... and i am limiting my internet use because i don't trust myself to remain sexually pure... if you struggle like i struggle, may my God give you his grace and be working in you great change.

turn your eyes upon Jesus.
look full in his wonderful face.
and the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
in the light of his glory and grace

Jesus is all I need.
the love of my God is more than enough - may He never let me see it as a stop-gap fall-back safety-net.

hallelujah!!

2006-10-19T11:05:00.000+10:00

listening to Until The Sun Turns Black by Ray LaMontagne
it is awesome.
on a nother no te, i am stil l on lea ve fr om th is bloggi ng busin ess f or aw hile at le ast.

c'est la vie?

2006-09-27T23:59:00.000+10:00

mysecret.tv

Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Walk beside me and be my friend.

- Albert Camus

at least, in spite of it all, we can bleed together, hold each other, and go through it together.

2006-09-21T11:46:00.000+10:00

He who has never hoped can never despair
George Bernard Shaw

Love is not a bandage to cover wounds
Hugh Elliott

The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of
Blaise Pascal

man overboard

2006-09-09T12:26:00.000+10:00

the longer we stay here,
the more i don’t think we will make it
the desperate way we long for home
we are hoping, we are falling

there’s a man overboard
there’s a lady here with a broken heart
her tears are burning down her heaven
and he is crying for home

it’s morning and the day is breaking
clouds descend to choke out the sunshine
when night falls and sleep should beckon
your mind is buckling down, through the terror

a boy is trembling in the the roar of traffic
a girl clutching roses and a shattered mirror
her dreams are fuelling more of those tears
and he is waiting to collide

the longer we stay here
the more i don’t think we will make it
through

2006-09-07T12:05:00.000+10:00

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?

George Eliot, Middlemarch

climbing update

2006-09-07T09:36:00.000+10:00

in other news, some recent joys:

- 3 new trackside problems at lindfield (east, left side, of the Overhang). these are hereonin named: Don't, Walk, Away.
- did the buttress problem to the right of that trio
- the flare to the right of this is impossible

- couple new lines / variations / sit starts to the right of Kim's Arete on Snout Rock

- me and doogs put up this new crazy brown-underpants problem at Cliff Oval (in Wahroonga) tentatively named: Orange. 2 jugs then big reach to a slopey lip on this slightly overhung face. it's awesome. primarily because we did it. unscathed. (physically).

we, climbers we, rue this rain.

discordance

2006-09-06T13:44:00.000+10:00

attending clinics has made me privy to the deeps of so many patients' lives, and this is a broken world. this morning, i saw this 70 year old lady with chronic schizophrenia and poorly controlled diabetes, and she was telling me the pain and frustration of losing her memory, of not seeing her daughter much, of feeling like commiting suicide but being constrained by guilt, of appearing convincingly happy and fine to her friends... yesterday, this 82 year old lady, with disabling rheumatoid arthritis, remarked how rare it was for people to even "have time" for her, given her profound deafness, and to be "treated like a human being".

sure, they sound like cliches. but what: woman on the train looking enviously at another woman, man sizing up the man sitting next to him, woman flipping through magazine, school kid not being able to join in the train carriage banter, people in suits, people, people, people...

i mean, what is the problem here? christians forthrightly posit sin, but there is something awry to know that broken people are held responsible for their actions and thoughts. if a lame sheep dives off a cliff, is that... wrong? if a blind calf is beligerent and riles its farmer, is that... wrong?

i don't think i'm communicating myself well enough here. but: there is a sea of pain and brokenness in people's hearts - and i struggle to reconcile this with the rod of culpability given us.

just floating undefined thoughts from a troubled heart.

morose sojourn

2006-08-31T09:35:00.000+10:00

went for a walk out back of killara yesterday. there's this road which, as it winds around, borders an incredible vista of green valley. and so i scrambled down, half bush-bash, half climb-down, and there were all these sizeable boulders/rock faces scattered inamongst the back-burned gum trees. and it was rather beautiful. there was this one rock that was especially inviting, and halfway up, hands crimping down on dirt-filled ironstone edges, my foot popped off and i tumbled down into the underbrush. sort of like that feeling you feel that guy in the movie must feel when he dives down a laundry chute to avoid [insert exotic bad gangster name]. whoosh. i suppose my wearing my bought-in-the-90s-cos-i-was-cool-then Converse shoes had something to do with it slipping. nonetheless, i brushed off the ton of dirt hugging my clothes, and sent the climb.

anyway, i'd set out feeling absolutely rubbish and frustrated at the way i was living my life before God. that little walk-climb was probably my moment of happiness in what has been a torrid couple of weeks. couple of years, even. okay, please excuse that grating sound of melodrama.

thinking of this verse in the bible which goes: "we ourselves... groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies and... we know that the whole creation has been groaning.. in hope [it] will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God."
[Romans 8]

because it reminds me that God is aware that this is a crappy world, and that his people are weighed down by their failures and hurts and miseries. he isn't a God of idyllic impossible demands. and i found that strangely comforting.

which makes my indulgent saying-yes's to my sinful desires all the more shameful and terrible.

feeling so groaning to be taken Home, so grateful that God has forgiven me, so torn by my utter depravity and the undeserving nature of my being forgiven.

maranatha.

le vide

2006-08-28T13:18:00.000+10:00

after it all,
we are still alone.

climb climb climb!

2006-08-14T12:27:00.000+10:00

in the interests of deflecting life musings and othersuch ponderings,
here is the link to the Australian Climbing Association. good site with photoed-guides of most of the good bouldering areas in sydney.

in my view, it's an amalgamation-of-sorts of australianbouldering.com and sydneyclimbing.com

in other news, doogs and i went to the The Fear Factory in north epping on sunday, and walked up the hill, behind Kennedy Wall to Blubber Wall... some good lines up the boulders there. mainly sit starts with short throws and slopers on clean sandstone. recommended to all who want the joy of charting unmapped territory. good to see the sunshine coming back with a vengeance.

and, for good measure, some photos of strangers climbing in Fontainebleau aka bouldering mecca francaise.

thank you God for rocks to climb!

gunther!!

2006-08-08T21:20:00.000+10:00

meet Gunther.
he is the cute little bearded troglodyte on the left.
and he stars in the all-time bestest game ever.

Gunther likes to climb boulders, and it's up to you to help him send problems. I logged 32 attempts before I got him up Flippin Out (V1).

He makes these stupid grunts whilst he crimps and hauls it up the rock, and it is hilarious. Mngfgghh!! Gnnfmm!

on the demo, you get to muck around on 3 problems, but there's also a slackline game that Gunther will play. and seeing this little-blue-fridge-with-arms throw big backwards flips before absolutely nailing himself on the slackline - it's a deadset riot.

click here for Gunther's Big Day!!

what the world needs is pipes

2006-08-08T15:22:00.000+10:00

um, let me, perhaps, qualify that.
when i think of pipes, i think of a cosy library with a thick plush pile carpet, crackling fire and warm rugged hearth, floor-to-ceiling walnute shelves filled with leather bound volumes, and comfy armchairs satted on my old men in smoking jackets and grandpa slippers, chugging away at their pipes filled with tabac, swirling swnifters of port, and... TALKING.

and, seeing as humans deign to be socially enlightened, make that old men and women chugging away. and mulling, sharing, musing, asking, pleading, laughing, crying, and Being in each others' lives.

they're relating and Being with each other. and i feel that's what we/i don't do enough of these days. pubs, telly, sport, movies, email, etc are all conspirators in the Elimination of real human interaction and connection. bring back the knitting, the dinners, the walks, the gardening, the milkshakes and hot chocolates, the come-over-for-a-cuppa's.

one can only drink that many coffees before one's palpitations kick in.

dieu incroyable!

2006-08-07T15:10:00.000+10:00

My mates are at the snow and sent me this photo by PXT (very NASA, i know) and it made me think of that song by Chris Tomlin - Indescribable, which has this line from Job 38...
"have you entered the storehouses of the snow?"

How great is our God!

i groan

2006-08-04T11:20:00.000+10:00

i'm doing a 6 week rotation in rheumatology at the moment and, sitting in on my supervisor's clinic, i felt the steam train slam of private pain when one of his patients let on in the stuff going on in his life. and it hits you, hard, and deep.

i guess it's those times, when the fine trappings of this life fail to dim our eyes to the way things really are, when we are all united in some deep unspeakable longing for a better place.

"we know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. for in this hope we were saved." romans 8

it is easy, sure, to dismiss the premise of heaven as a crutch that mankind's itching ears want to hear. but it is harder to dismiss the fallen hearts we carry around, and how the promise Jesus gives of Home resonates with that reality. and i fear there are trappings in this world sometime so fierce we cannot hear the cries of our hearts and the answerings of God.

of flint arrowheads and pocketknives

2006-07-31T13:41:00.000+10:00

sad... but i found myself enjoying a book review enough to be typing out some of it for your perusal...
[by a Christopher Hart, reviewing The Dangerous Book for Boys, a "bright-red, sturdy volume by brothers Conn and Hal Iggulden..." Spectrum, 29 July 06]

To test whether the book appealed only to a man nostalgic for his own blissful boyhood, I procured two 21st-century boys. Sure enough, The Dangerous Book met with almost unqualified approval.
... everything else worked and, occasionally, it was "awesome". Boy No.2 was especially pleased at the way his hoome-made flint arrowhead sliced his thumb open so effortlessly.
...although largely a girl-free zone, the book also contains the useful advice that "as a general rule, girls do not get quite as excited by the use of urine as a secret ink as boys do"...
...this book will be enjoyed by all boys, except for those dullards who confuse maturity with suppressing your inner boy...
...happily devoid of health and safety warnings, in keeping with the thrilling title, the worst that could happen is that a reader could get a bit bruised or electrocuted... or garrotte himself with his own tripwire...

yar?
if you feel like you've just swallowed a bucket of tripe, i assume you're also feeling precious little despair at having failed to amass an enviable collection of Hardy Boys books in your childhood.
hoobida!

betrothed

2006-07-31T12:22:00.000+10:00

the despair that embroils my life is so often calved from my succumbing to the siren call of temptation. but i am realising the off-kilter ways my heart has been yearning after purity. when i choose to live in a world of wrongs-and-rights, of dos-and-donts, and of oughts-and-oughtnots, i hamstring the power of God's love in my life.

God keeps reminding me that relationship is at the core of his plans for humanity. but
to my fallen heart, the father-son relationship conveys the drugery of obedience; and the shepherd-sheep relationship channels a frustration of his discarnate guidance.

BUT God has been reminding me that his people also have a bridegroom-bride relationship with him. we have been going through Revelation at church, and in chapter 21, we are told of "the holy city, the new jerusalem, coming out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband."

and love is the why and how of a marriage. seeing how i am betrothed to God gets me thinking about how a bride would be keeping herself pure for her bridegroom, looking forward and spending time with him, enjoying the relationship, and treasuring and guarding the fidelity and intimacy of their relationship with a fierce and pure jealous love. a rule book would hold a paltry and laughable, even, role in stirring her heart to desire those things...

i am going to live as a bride betrothed to her bridegroom. if you know me as your brother thru Jesus, please pray for me, and i will pray for you too - may God honour our prayers and keep us pure for Him.

Maranatha!

postscript: an excerpt from Searching For God Knows What, by Donald Miller:

"Can you imagine being a bride in a wedding, walking down the aisle toward your bridegroom, and during the procession, checking out the other groomsmen, wondering when you could sneak off to sleep with one of them, not taking the marriage to your groom seriously?
...In this way, immorality is terrible because it is cheating on the Creator, who loves us and offers Himself as a Bridegroom for the bride.
...The hijacking of the concept of morality began, of course, when we reduced Scripture to formula and a love story to theology, and finally morality to rules. It is a very different thing to break a rule than it is to cheat on a lover. A person’s mind can do all sorts of things his heart would never let him do. If we think of God’s grace as a technicality, a theological precept, we can disobey without the slightest feeling of guilt, but if we think of God’s grace as a relational invitation, an outreach of love, we are pretty much jerks for belittling the gesture.
...When I run a stop sign, for example, I am breaking a law against a system of rules, but if I cheat on my wife, I have broken a law against a person. The first is impersonal; the latter is intensely personal."

ps2..
more thoughts...
it is NOT like being engaged to be married magically eliminates one's being attracted to someone else. but it does stir one's heart to give wide berth to any indulgence to flirting or traipsing around!!

ps3..
at last - an insufferably long post with enough abstraction to sound cultish and disturbed...

losing people we love

2006-07-26T10:40:00.000+10:00

i hate goodbyes. i am the 5 year old with supreme attachment issues when i am at the airport. not only at the boarding gate, but even during the mandatory coffee pat-the-pocket-for-passport check-in times before. i get teary even seeing other people goodbyeing their whoevers.

graveyards are another terribleness. there's this crazybeautiful one down near gerringong on the south coast, on a greengreen hill beside the blueblue pacific ocean. and reading epitaphs about people missing their beloved parents or children took me over to the coldgrey cemetary in england where my grandpa is buried next to his daughter, my aunt, and where there is a patch of dirt for my uncle because he was buried in the states and they're waiting for the transfer. and then, like now, i miss my grandpa like crazy. i miss not seeing him when i visit grandma in london, i think of grandma living alone at home, of my dad not having his dad around, and then i think of grandpa waiting for me in heaven, and i get angry at myself for living a wayward life here forgetting that i am a child of God waiting to go Home, and i cry like i do now.

"at that time i will gather you; at that time i will bring you home" zephaniah 3

there is this aramaic word, Maranatha, and it means Our Lord, Come! and i think how my grandpa would be wanting me to remember that goodbyes are not forever because it is he who has gone home to be with Jesus and is waiting for me.

and i think of Jesus reminding his disciples of the same... "now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy. " john 16

maranatha!!

bienvenue de nouveau à moi !

2006-07-25T10:16:00.000+10:00

hello world.
i have moved place again. where there is internet. and a veranda (in lieu of a balcony) and warmth and washing machine and lampshades and plural bedrooms.
anyway, i have been cringing at my long posts of past and their various injections of waffle.

so let's leave it here for now, until i figure out someelse things to share to care with you.

oh, am reading Searching for God Knows What, by Donald Miller. it's a sensational book about our deep longing to know God, and i mean Really Know, as in have a genuine relationship with, him. i find the troll that is my human heart all too willing to accomodate fakery and rituals into my desiring to be in love with my God. Highly recommended.

and, have read Middlemarch by George Eliot. quite the suprisingly good read. dense as bush, but alive characters and, when it's not intrusive or tiresome, quality personal observations and comments from George herself. Recommended.

a bientot pour maintenant,

dan

on Coke, rewards, and faith

2006-04-21T15:25:00.000+10:00

i fear that, often, i treat God like a Coke machine. if i put in some so many cents, i want to be given something in return. moreover, i often feel cheated if he doesn't deliver. i would that such audacity stagger me to a repentant heart, but - similarly - there ain't such guarantee in this department either.

let me first, before i write more on that, tell you about last night.

i was walking the midnight streets of leafy killara, enjoying the delicious chill in the air. i was waiting for a lift from a mate, and my intention was to intercept him mid-way. the total intervening distance between my starting point and his starting point was about 45 minutes. someway into my stroll, i realised that i had walked past our midway point without realising how long it had been already.

point? because there was no fixed end-point to my walking, i perceived no such thoughts as "oh, i'm nearly there" or "oh, i still so very far away". it's like that stock phrase: "the journey is the destination"... only it's more like: "just journey". anticipation be rid, but so too fatigue and frustration, for the journey's end. because there be NO end.

so, my expectation for God to deliver belies my belief that there be an end point to my living a godly life. but, i am realising that reward is an irrelevant term because there is no such thing. Cokes are free and not earnt. moreover, there is now a second superior drinks machine, dispensing much more refreshing stuff. and it is up to me to get up off the floor, stop peering up into the Coke machine, wondering when it's going to punch out a can (and kicking the machine because it hasn't)... and walking up to the 2nd machine, pluck out an icy drink and chug it down.

the collorary is that: if i persist in waiting for the Coke, i will never drink from the 2nd machine. moreover, if i drink from the 2nd machine, but go back to wait for the Coke, i will sadly embitter the otherwise glorious drink in my hand.

"if anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink." john 7
"indeed, the water i give him will become in him a spring of water, welling up to eternal life." john 4

so, faith is so much MORE than merely thinking: "the 2nd machine is the answer"... but it is also leaving the Coke machine, walking to the 2nd machine, and not returning to the Coke machine. faith is faith lived.

ps. thanks for prayers about my review: it went better than i had catastrophised. but they have made my pass contingent on my passing an assessment on wednesday. hello fun weekend of books.

AFTERNOTE: ummm... upon a quick re-skim of what i've just written, i think i've managed to become truly bizarre.

quicksand

2006-04-18T10:05:00.000+10:00

so, again, clever dan has landed himself in another tub of quicksand. managed to miss turning up to a review session for the exam which i flunked. you know that crisis feeling? i have gallons of knotted heart and churning stomach (and other well bandied word pictures) right now. i often wonder what it would be like to walk through life without my marriage to catastrophising. the word liberating does spring to mind.

i have been finding it hard to feel God's presence in my life, and lack much desire to pursue him. at risk of ascribing to a superstitious belief in him, i still cry out to him. perhaps too half-heartedly to merit much mention. the feeling of being abandoned by God is so acute, and i do wonder if my fickle attitude towards him harks to a deeper-seated problem of never really walking with him at all. i mean, for every time that i have felt his love, there are just as many when i haven't.

and i fear that God has become, to me, a foil to moral living. religion, regardless our personal convictions, is fairly effective crowd control. and, for the individual, a lovely construct to lift depression, tame pride, and love selflessly.

is one's personal experience of God a validator of his existence? we all know that such experiences can be birthed from within ourselves. i mean, voodoo priests, i assume, are fairly enamoured in their conviction.

still... the idea of a benevolent deity who forgives and rescues and loves - without all that demand for holy and pure living - seems too inconsistent for the jealousy that an immaculate God must have.

and, so, i am adrift as i sink in the middleground. and dreadingdreadingdreading my rescheduled review this afternoon.

odds + ends

2006-04-10T10:16:00.000+10:00

again, am frustrated by being unable to post when i am in the mood. right now, don't have much to say. this is a lovely quote from clive staples lewis: "what saves a man is to take a step. then another step."

highlights of my evening. i single handedly polished off a packet of iced vovos and smarties, after an amazing feed at joe's arax pizzeria. church was good. for such a new and small service, i am encouraged that everyone keeps coming. to be very honest though, right now, God is more a concept, a truth... than my Truth, my God, and my King. how that fits into leading youth group and attending all the other things that i do.... i don't know...

some other quotes:

“It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . . It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to.” Marilyn Ferguson

“Resolve to be a master of change rather than a victim of change.” Brian Tracy

"Gratitude looks to the past and love to the present; fear, avarice, lust and ambition look ahead." CS Lewis, again.

OH, and, on friday, i sent Y2K, a V5 boulder problem out at The Trenches, in Baulkalm Hills.. here is my scorecard!

....

finally, "isolation and despair are brutal masters."

dreams

2006-03-30T08:54:00.001+11:00

i have a trove of elaborate constructs why i have reason to despair.

have been reading through the book of John for my quiet times. today, i read Jesus saying, "he who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty", and my automatic response was to snigger a disparaging snigger.

this is the enticing thought: i follow Jesus, but i still hunger and thirst for things not given me in this life... so why follow Jesus?

i read on:
"after the people saw the miraculous sign that Jesus did (fed the 5000), they began to say, "surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world." Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by himself."

the people want Jesus to herald in their conceived kingdom of heaven. and i want Jesus effect my carefully contructed dreams. my hunger and thirst for them will always remain if i refuse to truly immerse myself in new dreams - his dreams.

i know, deep down, i long for the love of a good woman and the joy of a warm home. my fear for lack makes me enlist Jesus as my help, or at least my king to give me such reward.

i am so blind to seeing that i am Elkanah: belonging to God. to serve my king, to become more like Jesus.

my dreams be trappings if they so blind and fool my heart.

if they modulate my love for God.

block arete, sent.

2006-03-15T10:44:00.000+11:00

well!
a highlight to bode me well by.
went to pearl bay on monday with dougal and sent Block Arete V4. joy!! but i want to go back and climb the true prow.

the photo is of some chap - no idea who - on the arete proper - the superman way.

chagrin.

2006-03-13T11:22:00.000+11:00

much to my chagrin, blogging has become a nuisance corner. when i want to write, i am usually at home with no internet. when i do have internet (ie. at hospital), i don't want to write. result? joyous rubbish is sprouted ad nauseum.

and all my photos are on my mac at home, and i can't post photos without some clever pre-copying of files onto a memorykeything. which rarely (doesn't) happen.

anyway, this chap from MAF came to our church on sunday.

mission aviation fellowship.
(www.maf.org)
i feel emasculated in my situation as a student, both in my ability to give financially, and in my ability to physically be Out There and Doing Something. praying to God for things like MAF is a hugely powerful thing that i can, but shamedly don't, do. all this just adds to an amazing abudant trove of self loath on which i draw too often for selfish self pity.

some lines from "precious illusions" by alanis... read them whilst listening.

You'll rescue me right?
In the exact same way they never did..
I'll be happy right?
When your healing powers kick in

This ring will help me yet as will you knight in shining armor
This pill will help me yet as will these boys gone through like water

reversing the obvious gender role incompatibilities, she speaks and pierces my soul.

9:13am in the library

2006-03-07T08:49:00.000+11:00

the smell of productivity is sadly lacking in my odour today.
things i have done this glorious morning.
breakfast - mint dark chocolate, bread + butter + salt (you gotta give it a go), hot cross bun, muesli
library - some internet banking, dreaming about all the delicious study i could soon be doing, dreaming about the delicious climbing i most definitely will be doing at 3.

this is el capitan, in yosemite national park.
one of the bigger reasons why americans should exult.

i declare again: i will go! it will happen!

have been reading how tommy caldwell and beth rodden have freed the nose, going at 5.14a (the changing corners pitch, apparently...) - that's a crazy grade 32.. AND he eats jelly worms at the top.

and what do i get to drool over?

study.

but. i am loving under rug swept, alanis morissette:

get your hot little hands on a copy and listenlistenlisten

eh bien...

2006-02-24T09:26:00.000+11:00

one. blogging is way commit lots. my first 4 days of going back to uni have totally cabbaged much of the musings i wanted to put into words. perhaps as the days/months go on, i will be settled into a rhythm well enough to do more than the cursory write-up.

two. at 8:55pm (after some golden hours of bouldering at Sandy Bay - some crazy balancey moves on steepy rock), doogs and i declared, again, how good it would be to have a climbing video to watch. so, a call to vodafone 123 was made and a subsequent one to Mountain Equipment on Kent St to keepitopenforuswe'rereallyclose!! whilst the 'roo was fanged down/across/whicheverway the bridge and into the city. to cut it short, we bought Dosage 3.

The definitive annual portrait of climbing's state-of-the-art, Dosage Volume III by bigUPproductions raises the bar with six doses of maximum-strength action and inspiration. It includes limestone towers of Vietnam, bouldering in Switzerland, Yosmite Valley classic routes, Beth Rodden and Tommy Caldwell first ascents at Smith Rock, significant Salt Lake City sends and Chris Sharma discovers Arkansas' untapped sandstone paradise. Plus, Australia and New Zealand bouldering.Features: Features climbers: Chris Sharma, Dave Graham, Tommy Caldwell, Beth Rodden, Ron Kauk, Klem Loskot, Tim Emmett, Jason Kehl, Ben Moon, James Litz, Melissa Lacasse and more.

SO, we watched it right away, at 11pm, after a dinner of bread-wraps of tomatoes, cucumber, philly cream cheese, tzaztiki dip, olive-cashew-parmesan dip, some pate, salt-and-vinegar crisps, lettuce, ketchup... OOH so good.

couldn't find any pictures on google from the dvd, but here are some of sharma to whet your eyes.

the photo on the right is Luke Laeser pulling on some improbable slope in Squamish, British Columbia - on the Petzl website. i find it captures much of the magic movement i enjoy in bouldering. hope you are inspired to give it a go, at least, or keep at it! [27 feb: okay, it's not up-loading.... stay posted (whatever that means)] [28 feb: done.]

three. will hopefully pre-write some writes of some substance, in an attempt to keep this blog meaningful to me.

four. will definitely be climbing lots and posting photos up regularly. this is the Plan.

so it begins...

2006-02-20T08:42:00.000+11:00

lying half-awake, weak with sick, one experiences that deep isolation that we all manage to deafen in one way or another....

off the back of that, am about to start my last several months at uni - in 15 mins. i thought it would be nice to commemorate that with an entry. feel a spicy mix of fear and dread spilling into my essence...

i often write these verses from Isaiah 41, to mates of mine going through similar times:
"so do not fear, for i am with you;
do not be dismayed, for i am your God.
i will strengthen you and help you;
i will uphold you with my righteous right hand...

for i am the LORD, your God,
who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, do not fear; i will help you.
do not be afraid, o worm jacob, o little israel,
for i myself will help you, declares the LORD, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel."

i suppose it is my turn to step out in faith, that determining trust, in my God.

quiet times...

2006-02-16T09:57:00.000+11:00

truth is a wierd creature. it, by nature, cannot but create division. that is, things are either true or false. but it is the delivery of truth which births the arrogance, intolerance, and general negativity associated with truth-sayers.

//

quiet times are what many christians call that time of day they set apart to spend time with God - reading his word, pondering over it, talking to him, listening to him = relationship stuff. given God has no carnate form, this obviously sounds very zen-new-agey. and i find it hard myself to relate with an invisible God.

moreover, just because i feel like i'm having some inner spiritual discourse does not, by any means, equate to there actually being one. hmmm!! more about this some other time...

in my quiet times, i'm reading paul's letter to the people at corinth (town in greece) = "1 corinthians". Paul makes this point in chapter 2: "who knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him?"... and logically concludes that "in the same way, no one knows the thoughts of God except the spirit of God" (which we call the (Holy) Spirit)...

ergo, without God's spirit, one cannot understand the thoughts of God - they are foolishness to him.

//

1. humans are designed for the beautiful purpose of life with God as our King (and all that entails).
2. humans are blessed with slates of possibility, and it is a beautiful thing to scribe on them as we wish.

Which sounds foolish?
Which is truth?

i have had both views delivered to me with varying degrees of arrogance, which is a sad, sad thing because, in doing so, the delivery has clouded the message...

postscribing..

apologies if the-above reads like a frumpy stock-phrase / re-hash / so-so.

am indebted to the benevolence of My Local Library for this internet access... which comes with the Free Bonus!! of 1. the joyful squeals of kids at Storytime nearby; 2. the decidedly less joyful sounds of The Verbose Man, The Loud Lady, The Syncophantic Librarian, The Verbose Man #2, The Addicted to Social Banalities Human. and the Trying Hard Person at the computer = me; 3. a fuzzy computer screen which enjoys hovering between good-focus and headache-focus; 4. air-conditioning = 10 points to me for escaping the humidity; 5. cannot upload photos on their Cyber-Crime-proof terminals... joyjoyjoy

after the absence

2006-02-03T13:54:00.000+11:00

back.
kind of.
SO much has been going on - SO much to say / write... and the lack of a landline in my apartment is proving a rather effective barrier to me accessing the internet. strange that. i have had a million thoughts on as many things, and it's been both infuriating (having to settle with unwritten thoughts in my mind), and, also, constructive (having to reduce and distill them into preciseness).

so, there will be a slew of catch-up writes soon, when i get somewhere other than this library terminal with lets-not-work keys and minimal functionality.

have been doing quite a bit of climbing. highlight = finally sent Liquorice Arete, V5 at the Fear Factory in North Epping, which was awesome. it's this overhanging arete, with 4 moves up to a brown mantle. dougal did it first, though, and then went on to send Blunt Instrument, graded V3+, but is seriously more like a 4/5. some wicked photos forthcoming.

kylc (that's katooma youth leadership conference, in the blue mountains - for you, kathleen) was incredible. 5 days of hearing great talks from great speakers from the bible, and bible studies, and workshops, in one of the more beautiful places in the world (with bonus traipse down to a fog-obscured mountain gorge and waterfall). may sound like a wacko spiritual retreat but so NOT wacko. i am eager to share what i learnt, and will.

camp tops - the camp my church runs for our youth group. SO many good conversations, talks, firesides, seminars, and everythingelses about God - knowing him, walking with him, talking to him, listening to him, living for him. the kids were great - much fun but encouragement also. ditto the share.

intersparsing days at the apartment. there is this gorgeous park by the water, only 2 mins walk, and has been the place for many dawn, morning, afternoon, evening, midnight, goodtimes alone and with mates. the cardboard box of my notes has been unpacked, crisps sandwiches have been had, and glory posters of climbing have been put up. am really blessed to have a lovely place.

okay, time to go home and go climbing at greenwich. and then Couch (our youth group) with the kids and other leaders in the evening.

eh bien,
me.

abientot, mes amis

2006-01-16T01:15:00.000+11:00

well, it is now 1:24am. having enjoyed some of ballantine's' and drum's finest with doogs and tubs, i will be hitting the Bed for a lovely 4ish hour sleep before i head out to katoomba for kylc. i am really needing some soul-drenching from god so please pray that lasting footprints be made in the sands of my mind.

faith is a weird substance. a tonne of it will float you, not enough of it will crush you. to me, faith is that trust that ends up determining your life choices. i have made devastations of bad choices recently and i am greedy for my heart to be changed. i am finding it intensely hard to love an invisible god, to follow a discarnate shepherd, to trust the divine, to live for the eternal.

alors, nous nous reunirons in 4 days.

be well, dan

ps-1. and discover the joys of climbing.
ps-2. how wack/awesome/zen is that guy's knit? (answer: very)
ps-3. it is now 2:12 (with corresponding sleep deduction)

7 seconds, neneh, expression

2006-01-14T11:26:00.000+11:00

was just listening to 7 seconds by youssou n’dour, featuring neneh cherry. i think she sung a few songs on the soundtrack to “the assassin”, starring bridget fonda. awesome.

sufficiently awesome to compel me to write some thoughts down.

[correction: okay, no, it was nina simone. but neneh sounds like nina. this is a pic of eagle-eye cherry with neneh cherry. oh, and neneh sings "woman" as in...
This is a woman's world / this is my world / this is a woman's world / for this man's girl / there ain't a woman in this world /
not a woman or a little girl / that can't deliver love / in a man's world.]

it was that assault of melody, voice, video, lyrics, over a throbbing bassline which made it so good. good to what end? is it perfection of expression? or is it simply successful expression? or a successful perfection?

what appeal has haunting gravity? has piercing melody?

without purpose, there is no end by which to measure a thing. without measure, evaluation becomes arbitary and therefore somewhat meaningless. the point often missed by modern zeitgeists is that purpose drives humanity.

purpose may be expressly manifest in such things as “this song has a nice tune” or “the characters are very interesting”... but such comments as “there is value in this artwork because it is art” still subscribe to purpose, albeit implicit: “is this art?”.

i mean, consider what i just wrote. is it good? that is a hard question because “good” lacks any definite purpose–tag. for a reader in search of a spontaneous floating of thought, one may think it is good. for a reader in search of a well–considered paragraph of thought, one may think it less good. for a reader in search of a précis of my thoughts on the value of art, one will likely be disappointed.

this morning, with my Nescafe, i was reading an essay by a Malcom Knox. he writes about the term “literary” fiction and the various parameters which might define truly great writing. i found his conclusions of frustratingly inconsistent quality.

“The White Earth is popular fiction. At the micro level it uses stock phrases, in its characterisation it presents people we’ve already read about and it dramatises an agreeable set of politically correct storylines.”

i found “stock phrases” a very astute observation. so many writings read like polish. but i don’t think that justifies his praise of Nikki Gemmell’s The Bride Stripped Bare because she “strives to avoid the stock phrase. whether or not it does this well is beside the point. it remains “orginal literary fiction””. a reader in search of an appealing and engrossing read may or may not find such striving as appealing or engrossing. that said, much novels entrenched in “stock phrases” are truly terrible. irregardless, “appeal” is a much more honest measure than “originality”.

“As for relativism, I have made a case for the supreriority of the “original”.” Well, this is the greatest point of diversion between us. i agree that there is value in originality, but that does not equate with appeal or pleasure.

“Original writing strives to assign words their true value, not just today’s market price. So why bother? Because art – invention, original thinking – is the answer. Because the alternative – silence – is unbearable.” this made me think that WELL–CONSIDERED output IS much better than an ill–written delivery of worthwhile points. in this case, the sum is less.

i must not ruin my opinions with my delivery of them.

so here goes.

the over–arching purpose of art must be expression. and under its umbrella come originality, astute observation, insight, sharp perception, and their myriad siblings. art is to say something. good art is say that well. art is not merely saying something new, for that is original art; one possessed with the Originality Bug should endeavour to say that new thing WELL.

what value has expression? one dimension by which humans may be defined is that great juxta–position between the insignificance and the enormity of existence. to express is to REDUCE that into a manageable quarry, from which one may mine one’s own purpose for life.

side benefit...

2006-01-14T01:20:00.000+11:00

of spending a long time sitting in front of a computer writing blog things: the elephantweight of blood that ends up pooling in my legs and sore big toe. magnificent.

=??!! of the day

2006-01-14T01:16:00.000+11:00

it's the middle of summer in australia, and what have we? thick drizzling rain.

dan: must add 'lucridity of summer weather' to 'unbearable summer heat' in reasons why i should move countries soon to, say, new york! - city of gloriously cold winters and beauty in general.
world: um, okay.

NYE + coffs

2006-01-14T00:19:00.000+11:00

all that follows: some memories of a trip made, over the new year week, to Coffs Harbour... and only written about now because of stupid uploading problems.

c'mon, this is pretty funny. on 30th december, doogs, nicky, and me drove up the coast to coffs... having left sydney at 5?pm, we were never going to make it in time, so we stopped at port macquarie, and camped on the oval there. yes i said oval, yes it's public, yes it's probably illegal, but yes it was fun sleeping with houses and footpaths and early-morning-walkers-and-cyclists next to us. for all you detractors out there, you will never know the joy of brushing your teeth next to a streetlamp, the joy of falling asleep with the imagined gravel-crunch of footsteps in your head, the (lesser) joy of waking up at 6am and packing one's tent so as to avoid awkwards attempts at explanations to aforesaid walkers and cyclists.

having gotten an incredibly early start, we had much time on our hands. on the detour (to viewing nicky's dream-house), we stopped at a lookout. i spotted these shafts of sunlight from the car and, after a great park, this is one of many photos taken.

in real life, as it was then, the view was shockingly beautiful. it really was a glimpse of that Better Place. awesome.

this is an ooooh photo of the Rolling Hills that we saw on the way back from Coffs (this time with Bob, Bev, Jip). as there was a huge bushfire tearing up near Newcastle, the F3 was closed, so we (as Bob got advised to do from some captain-america-type character in a servo) took the backroads via singleton (near the hunter valley. i know - the hunter valley) back home. ironically, (cos it was bloody hot outside), we ended up missing most of the 45 degree heat. oh, and the reason it's oooh is because the fence is blurry but the hills aren't. oooh. like it?

and this is a Hill that deserves its capital letter that we saw on that same road home. it was massive. and i thought a pretty photo could be had out of it (with bonus subversive symbolism!! of something so big being able to captured in something so small)... sorry, it was actually something to do with how perspective changes a lot of things (the tired forest/trees analogy) - but this sounds less tacky than the big/small/capture line.

AND, for all the attentive people out there - yes, no thing was said - nor photos taken/posted - about the days inbetween driving up and driving back from coffs harbour (ie. the actual holiday). bah, details. for the super keen, here are some memory word-aids: nice house, pool, bbq, beach, carnival, xbox, reading, wine, beer, salad, nando's hot sauce, sun burn, le tan's iced green tea after sun mist spray (ohsogood), fish and chips, gelato, coffee, tide and pilot breakfast, the heat, the heat, new year's eve fireworks, failed bartok and poker card games, a never-started brainiac game... okay, sorry, i forgot that you probably needed to have been up at coffs with me for these awesome word-aids to be jogging memories. no matter, multiply the sub-standard images you recalled (from where?) by [insert big number], et voila, vous aimez?

salut pour ici, dan

joyjoyjoy!!

2006-01-13T22:11:00.000+11:00

joyjoyjoy!! i the happy. the lease for the apartment has been signed and we will be moving in next week. very exciting!! much glory to god looking after every thing.

our plan today:
1. fix up money order for bond (oh how wads of cash burn in the pocket...)
2. go to realtor, give bond, sign lease
3. go to roadstrafficauthority, centrelink, northsydneycouncil for various borings
4. go to pub across from our new place + have beer
5. exult.

well, the above plan de-railed at (3)... but, true troopers we, hopped back on at (5) = deck, BDs, misty rain, jason mraz tunes, all enjoyed by tubby, doogs, and myself = exulting in we the Happy. we the Looked-After. we the Blessed. ok, no more zen words, seeing as they're ruining my genuine gratefulness to god.

i was going to post some old climbing photos yesterday... but my slow internet kept biting my patience off so i went climbing instead. anyway, here they are... enjoy, mes enfants!

[.......long indeterminate break.......]

um, how about these new photos of climbing yesterday? this is at lindfield rocks. taken with a disposable camera courtesy of nicky. all comments from Sydney Bouldering, by Peter Balint, 2004. [other stuff i feel compelled to add is in these brackets]

this is me, on Kim's Arete, V4.
all class, yet atypical for Lindfield - slopers! up the bulgy arete using a large pocket on the right hand side, then straight up via the big slops to top out. many many many variants exist on this arete (try without matching the big sloper). hyperclassic.
[well, its harder matching on the sloper. i mean, check the facials. other worthy additions: the sit start, the LH-sloper + RH-skip, the RH-sloper + LH-skip. this is truly a hyperclassic problem]

this is doogs, on Pocket Five, V5.
just left of the layback is an obvious round pocket at low height. hold this with your left hand and reach to a sloper and small nubbin, thence up avoiding the layback flake.
[thence??? speaking olde england is weird full. great problem, though. painful latching the nubbin. real balance ripper too - after pumping up to nubbin with RH, your body wants to swing out like a barn-door]

well, this is extra room enough for me to ask: do you like my photo-collages? i scanned each photo into my mac waaay too big (1 MB) and then mucked around in microsoft word - with bonus mega screen freezes along the way - before exporting the grouped images out into a jpeg. how does that sound eh? dan, the master of highfaluting, to no-one really in particular.

this is me, on The Layback Crack, V1
up. a classic.

[simple enough, high enough, awesome enough for this is to be a classic. it's a really proud line to send - splitting corals wall into 2 bits. this probably isn't the best place to learn laybacking - despite whatever incentive the backbreaker height is to avoid falling. that said, once the joys of smearing is learnt, and some good balance is had, this is a lovely lovely warm-up.]

ok. this is a real gem. looks good? climbs good.
its dougal on Sloper Six, V6.
starting with the right hand in the slot, move up via the obvious slopey pocket on the left.
variant (grade 6): hold the slopey pocket - harder and better.

[doogs is on the variant. i'm taking the photo from this chimney so whilst it mayn't look high, it is, and whilst it does look majestic, it is. took probably 18 months from drool to send. the key is latching the right hand onto this sloper (has a faint ripple) - which doogs is heading towards in frame 2, and latches in frame 3. absolute top-shelf winner. well worth clicking-on for the bigger piccy]

to finish, here is me on Snout Rock, doing the right-to-left rising traverse, which i've monikered Riser, V3/4. [riser .. rising.. geddit? damn i'm good].

the photo on the right is probably my favourite photo. reasons?
1. the camera lens has once again worked me. i look like a whippet samurai child (with black mop), which i'm not. (well, except for the awesome-hideous black mop)
2. everything is blurry except for my right hand, which is slicing through the air onto the chalked sloper
3. it shows my lovely yellow shoes (waaay brill-o)
4. i love this climb (the entire traverse around snout rock is awesome - either direction, too)

the truth? pick and choose.

well, i'm out. hope you've enjoyed EXULTING the goodness of god (looking after our petty lives, giving us rocks to climb, giving us the crazybeautiful-ness of creation to remind us of that Place of greatest Beauty) with me. arrivederci pour ici,

dan.

parking inspectors and climbing

2006-01-12T09:33:00.000+11:00

well, i had saved this paragraph of seething rage against parking inspectors (okay, just towards that one that graced my last-wednesday, then)... but i'm figuring now that

1-1. i've already expressed my emotion (as suggested by the world of improve/deify/heal-yourself-books)
1-2. gripe-ing is really just glorified catty-ness
1-3. the forgiveness thing (no no, not for him writing me a ticket - that would be 100% ludicrous; but for other oh-so-fun things that transpired between us)
1-4. voodoo dolls we in some sick world of lucridity - stuff it, i said, build a bridge, getoverit.

done.

here are some old climbing photos...

for some reason, this took about 15 "upload" attempts to, err, upload. limited amounts of fun before this moment, so make up for it now - enjoy. this is adrian on some V4 at the Frontline (a superb addition to the sydney bouldering scene, found in Baulkham Hills, a cheeky 20 mins by car, thanks to the M2).

i just think the [blue tee-shirt], the [how-is-your-shoulder-not-crying left arm], and the [i-dont-need-no-thumb right hand] are beautiful moments in this photo. plus, it was a fun day.

[post script: i did the "small size" option on upload. not up for upload #16. you can go. grin. and. bear. it.]

all together now = AIR PUNCH.
oh, the thrills of successful uploads.
oh, the thrills of being me.

this is an amazing block of sandstone at pearl bay (near the spit bridge). it's foxy on The Block Arete, V4, doogs on spotter duties, and myself as camera champ.

it's a pity that none of us have sent this yet - it's a great line - clean, pure, hard, varied, beautiful.

pine away.

there's something to be said about words ruining photos, hey.

this is me ignoring the fact that times new roman is the worstworst font in the universe and instead focusing on typing, "this is me, wearing a happy blue striped sweater, climbing one of the courtyard traverses at Brown's Road, Wahroonga - a small initial corridor flanked by 10 metre walls (top-rop or death-solo or bush-regenerator-trad-pro walls) - with much much more 'downstairs' - sport climbs and and bouldering - keep on down the hill", and persisting with the juvenile attitude i'm having of creating a mammoth sentence. fini.

well, this is the THIRD AND FINAL attempt i make at posting these photos. i don't care if they're too small. i don't care if they're not amazing , id s'on't care if is all this is not ins a very legvidble form because this is the fthrid and finals attempt i make. lsdfkjgndflkgn!!!!!!

[post script]: i find it strangely appropriate that this post sees a fine return the seething rage i mentioned at the top. is the lesson: to not jinx oneself and don't blow up at fellow human beings, or is it: stuffed if i know, but i'm sure blowing up at FHB's doesn't help either way?

denzel david

2006-01-11T01:13:00.000+11:00

seeing as it's now 1:18 am and i have (these days) very little desire to do the pre-asleep thing (a wholly (not wholely)(no, let's no use "entirely") unpleasant activity because it consists of me lying on my mattress for ages playing let's-chase-away-dark-thoughts and let's-invite-fall-asleep thoughts at the same time, me waking up convinced i did not dream at all, me getting out of bed feeling a whole lot worse than i feel right now - which isn't ***** (5 stars))... (intentional double brackets there)... i will post again.

watched Mississippi Burning, which got nominated for 6 (and won 1 for cinematography) oscars in 1988, starring gene hackman and willem dafoe, with tubby and col and doogs. [oh dear, what is protocol in the land of blognerds? are names in? should narratives be constructed to avoid them? di-lem-ma!] it is a harrowing film, like The Pianist and Schindler's List. i read To Kill A Mockingbird when i was in high school, but i appreciated more the moral fibre of the characters, the name Scout, the rich characterisation and dialogue - more than the civil rights stuff.

but i so also remember that i, in and amidst vacant stares, being moved by the beauty of upright character. tonight: the brutality of hate, the incredibleness of courage, the vehemence of power, the searing fire of vengeance. it's a good film. stylised washington-worship, but i don't really want to dissect it beyond this. we all have racialist streaks because we all have egos and beauty-complexes; i am grateful that somehow (and it must have been a slender somehow) racial segregation is less brutal these days in most places...

whilst sitting on the townhall steps at chatswood, i struck up a hello with this guy who verbalised much frustration at having failed his L-licence knowledge test. i was making a crisp sandwich and he was having a smoke and we made conversation. he told his name was denzel, and 37 years old, i told him i was daniel, nice to meet you, and he said ah i won't confuse that with david my middle name, and i nodded. he asked me about my tattoo and told me about his necklace (unintentional feminine noun) and we got talking about life and god and love.

i talked about my "what craziness is consumerism in australia" realisations when i returned here from kenya, and denzel told me about his shock at people throwing food away when his brothers were eating out of bins back home, of there being more than 1 type of butter here, and that (when offered strawberry, mango, chai, et cetera teas) "i just want some tea!!"...

denzel then told me that he was getting married in february, that he met his fiance 11 years ago, when she went over to south africa, when they dated for 2 years. then she returned to sydney, and they both began new relationships. 4 years later, they resumed contact (he having being dumped by his partner for talking increasingly frequently about her) and then came 3 years of praying to god whilst waiting for a visa...

anyway, on the night before he was to leave for sydney, he was mugged by 4 armed men (he showed me his scar) and the watch she'd given him, along with his hard-saved monies and gifts. he said he said he cried so hard that night. then he said something about being so so happy, about her being the girl of his dreams. muchmuch more was said, but them's the highlights and othersuches.

i have SO much to be grateful for, and i am grateful that god reminded me again of that through denzel.

bed.

in other news...

2006-01-10T15:45:00.000+11:00

and it's 3:49pm, tuesday arvo, and after having spent the vast majority of the past week searching (read drivingwalkingfuming) for apartments, we have found (and tentatively secured) an apartment in mcmahon's point. one bedroom, one kitchen, one living area, one bathroom.

highlights? the bath has legs. stumpy and red-painted-copper-leaf (boy am i a sucker) but legs all the same (photos will be forthcoming). realising that the upstairs' apartment (smoke flavoured carpet and free roaches) was not the only option. listening to the agent's verbal diarrhoea. sorry, i meant fascinating ability to say "good" or "wonderful" without needing any discernible context for their use. sweet window ledges that are white and wooden and are sitt-able, overlooking the avenue outside. there is this crazybeautiful view of the water and its boats from our front door. plenty more.

i guess this providence from god caught me slightly unawares. i have been finding it really hard to pray without my words being wooden or heartfelt. and for god to deign my anxieties worthy of his shepherding - that is an immensity that i too easily kick around. i still have certain species of nigglers boxing around in my stomach but i tell myself that trusting god is not always about having sufficient trust. it is sometimes about following despite insufficient trust.

have been reading a few blogs of friends. there is this certain directness, don't you think about photos, against which words will always fail? i will try to put more photos in.

and there must be this Skill of Perspicacity (my word of the day!) in posting blog entries that are just so entirely and simply readable!! i hopehopehope you enjoy reading my blogs, because i know i myself loathe the Plowing Through of some unrewarding wordrubbish - so frequent on planet earth!

gotta jet, d.

articulating love

2006-01-09T15:59:00.000+11:00

"There was a tremendous sense of betrayal with the shock of your leaving. He could not understand you not wanting to share a common future in which, together, you would observe the world in all its sad and beautiful guises."

that, lifted from page 10 of "seven types of ambiguity", made me think about my "that greatest thing" take on love. i want now to offer that it must be Togetherness rather than love, per se, that pushes the emptiness of existence aside.

many images come to mind. two surly schoolboys, sent outside for flicking boogas at each other, exulting in the guilty satisfaction they had sufficiently commended themselves to Emily and Beth, respectively. Eli laying into Sam for Sam laying into him. Eli laying into Sam for Sam laying into Oliver. Julie and Elise, best friends, excitedly swinging plastic hangbags behind their mothers, Meg and Fran, shouldering (demurely, now) their leather handbags.

Ethan and Abi, in Abi’s room, breathless in their attempts at expressing a very many things with very few words. Tom and Jim, now both 40, teeing off on the 15th green, continuing that grand male tradition of pissing contests, mud wrestling, and lunch box boasts. Ethan and Abi, now 20 years older, now in their room, and now less breathless, but still expressing a very many things with very few words. Millie and Bess, sitting in a park together, now that the boys they kissed and chased are waiting for them in a better place.

***
sleep overs, birthday invitations, pen pals... phone calls, letters, emails... dinner parties, drinks at the pub, cocktail soirees... bushwalks, camps, trips... bocce, bridge, poker nights.

that there is a gulf between quiet solitude and lonely isolation. that dance-less singles still linger around at a disco. that one can derive some comfort from the telly in an empty house. that one looks forlornly into a neighbour’s christmas bustling. that wistful gazing into an inanimate photograph even happens.

***

social reclusion is more a matter of the quality of company than its nature. mad martha may prefer the company of her 10 cats (and one banshee of a budgie) – but only in a reaction of disappointment and pessimism to her previous experiences with humans. tom may enjoy his sacrosanct tranquillity with mister log cabin and miss alpine lake – but take away the talkative birds, the inquisitive beavers, the whispering trees... and tom is a broken man.

Heinmarrke (our eccentric scientist) considers his equations more alive and pleasant than humans – he is not alone. to Sally, that tub of Ben and Jerry’s superfudgechocolatecherrydeluxe icecream is company – much more accepting, nurturing, and comforting than glance-aways and sniggering-put-downs... whether she lives in Wait (for better company) or that she has Left (for better company) is another matter – Togetherness is what she wants.

“to Be” is too vast a state unaccompanied. “to Be With” – that is suddenly a smaller vast.

***
now to link this Togetherness with love, that greatest thing.

love is Together Anywhen. i don’t just want to be with you during this movie – i want to be with you afterwards too – i love you. love is Together Anywhere. i don’t just want to be with you on the tennis court – i want to be with you at home too – i love you. love is Together Anywhat – i don’t just want to be with you clothed, masked, rehearsed – i want to be with you unclothed, unmasked, unrehearsed – i love you.

why so amazing?

when i am with you, it doesn’t matter that a mountain of existential crises tower overhead. when i am with you, it doesn’t matter that a sea of emptiness surges belowfeet.

this is not blindness. this is not ignorance. this is not madness. it is the creation of something Outside of this madness of Being. it is the stepping onto a ship that will hold no water of Mortality Et Cetera. it is the embracing of the one thing that peals It Doesn’t Matter to the hole of Existence.

do you have someone to be together with?
do you have someone to love, and to be loved by?
do you wait? or have you left?

taking heart

2006-01-08T18:15:00.000+11:00

...as in "take heart!"

despite this state called life, and my various crises in it, emotional suicide is insulting.
so, in this joyful spirit, enjoy the non-shuffled photo a monsieur doisneau took of that beautiful moment when love (that greatest thing) holds us and the injury of life fades to irrelevance.

am listening to "villa elaine" by remy zero. amazing good stuff.
will post more affirming photos of climbing soon.
am re-reading "the seven types of ambiguity" by eliot perlman. brillo-o.

a bientot mes amis.

the emptiness of being

2006-01-08T16:15:00.000+11:00

quite acutely, now, i find a great emptiness in being.
to Be. to live.

i am not talking about meaning or, its frequent playfellow, purpose. meaning concerns itself with Why... but perhaps some sketching around the Whys will better illustrate my fix. here are few possible subscriptions.

that we are here, quite simply, to Live - this is first. whether lived to the full, lived despite the full, lived as a pauper, lived as a prince - it is to live it, to experience it - to Be, as the years pass. one often ends up attaching Goals and living life as a Pursuit. goals of wealth, of happiness, of organic highs. my shortlist here would include Richness and Depth.
* to have a rich life - brimming with variety, appreciation, and motion. i suppose this is a matter of one's mental approach to life. to live not to avoid lows or maximise highs, but to enjoy the Ride - so as to not waste the ride.
* to have a deep life - to delve, to commit, and to forge whole-heartedly. to not merely skirt past avenues on the ride, but to dive deep and to soak. to have relationships that are raw and fierce. to laugh boldly, to cry as pierced, to fear as quakes...

that we are here to shine the magnificence of our creator - this is the second. were one to believe we are created beings, one's existence becomes relative to a higher being. one may choose to ignore, to spite, to adore - to whatever, but one cannot but live but as a response to one's creator. the christian thirsts for Eden to be reclaimed - to be (themselves) in a place (itself) as it was in the Beginning - as god (creator) intended. humans, having thrown Eden away, are rescued by god's gracious decision to forgive us - by jesus' death on the cross. life, then, becomes a matter of accepting this gift of a second chance - getting others in on this gift - and living the remainder of this life as Thanks and Praise TO our rescuer.

that we are here to Be Alongside - this is (excuse overlaps) the third. irregardless of what Why we subscribe to, we are in this life with others. and it is that Solidarity of saying "you are not alone" and that "i live... alongside you, as you live". this concept of Fellow-Being, of Together-We is so sadly forgotten in many people deciding to Pursue or Thank in isolation. it is hard to understand the comfort or value that one derives from having someone there With us. perhaps it is the subsequence of the Human Condition - the dwarfing situation that: we are here, and that: we are to live it.

my agony, though, does not concern these matters. i find it hard to articulate what it is. after writing out the above, i feel even less keen to try. perhaps it is a matter of desire, for even in apathy there is a vigour. it is not a matter of despair, for god's rescue plan IS hope. it is not a matter of surrender or quiescence or acceptance, for i do not resist.

it is not a matter of purpose, for i see desirable purposes. it is not depression, for there is true joy in being a precious child of god (not having to concern myself with god-things, and having his care and nurture as i concern myself with child-things).

perhaps it is a matter of strength, for there is little energy in this heart left, even to plod, down more days. it is a burden to be.

i find it hard to reconcile Being.

perhaps love is the greatest because it is the least disillusioning distraction. and i do not mean that in a negative way at all. i remember times when i was held, and the immensity of being and living ceased to be relevant. times in the power of a hug or the fierceness of a kiss, when i looked forward to living, when i wanted to live, when there were things that i wanted.

if it were that i wanted to want things - to want to soar, to feel, to dive, to climb - life might be more tolerable. but as it is, i wish that i needn't be here. this world is not for me.

this is the emptiness i speak of.

3-2, with God in the here

2006-01-07T12:45:00.000+11:00

more and more, i find that i need to spend time thinking about Issues without letting the Perfect Veto of Truth (that is, God) into the matter. i suppose one could argue for a different noun than Veto – say, Light, or Rosetta Stone, what ever floats your agreement i guess.

perhaps it is my way of resolving human concerns that (for me) don’t enjoy being bull-dozed out without (due?) consideration.

considering “the Inanity of it all” with God now in the picture...

a man called Zophar, a Naamathite, quoted in Job (a book in the bible) says in chapter 11...

“can you fathom the mysteries of God?
can you probe the limits of the almighty?
they are higher than the heavens – what can you do?
they are deeper than the depths of the grave – what can you know?”

then God speaks to Job in chapter 38...
“who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?
... where we you when i laid the earth’s foundation?
... have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place?
... can you bind the beautiful Pleiades? (7 stars in Taurus)
... can you loose the cords of Orion?
and He goes on to list the incredible and amazing things on earth, which we easily appreciate, but as mere passive observers.

Job replies, “surely i spoke of things i did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.”

as a race, we humans find it so hard to RELINQUISH control. we think it shouts out “incompetent!”, “worthless!”, “weak!” and we find those hard to reconcile with our ego.

just as it is RIDICULOUS for a puppy to feel frustrated and develop inadequacy complexes about its inability to cook a steak on the barbie, it is RIDICULOUS for a human to feel the same about our inability to grasp Things Too Big.

the whole of philosophy might (sorry, might does detract from grand sweeping statements, i know) be summed up as The Addition of “For Now” = thinking about Things Too Big For Now.

whereas God says,
“so do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God. (isaiah 41)

isaiah goes on about God being a God who...
“tends his flock like a shepherd:
he gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those who have young.” (isaiah 40)

such deference to God is often (and easily) seen as a Crutch, with dependence being a negative word, suggesting a fault needing to be overcome.
to a lame man, a crutch is a blessing, grateful relief. water in the desert.
to a whole man, a crutch is a taunt. sand in the desert.

for someone to see the inconsequential nature of his existence, they also need the love of God (love always says: “you matter to me”) to prevent the INEXORABLE turningturning of the wheel from driving them insane.

for one cannot stop the turning of the wheel – this is a crazy world, and a crazy universe, far far far beyond the little control we can exert – one can only be grateful that the loving arms of God have offered to gather us and lead us to green pastures away from the wheel.

one can turn to Other Arms, such as human loves, academic pursuits, philosophical bents, etc, but only one set of arms love us and carry us away to safety.

perhaps this is truth: seeing the correct arms
perhaps this is faith: falling into those arms.

3-1, oh, the Inanity of it all

2006-01-07T12:29:00.000+11:00

woke up today, made more bearable with an exotic (too easily read as weird) brekkie. scrambled eggs on buttered sour dough (no, I still don’t really know why it’s so lauded), ketchup, lettuce. toasted slice of nut and fruit loaf with homemade strawberry jam (or why commercial jams are jams) and strawberry yoplait yoghurt on top. mango weiss bar from the freezer. two cups of (Blend 43) coffee.

flipping through the weekend Herald’s Spectrum section, whilst consuming the above. Big Questions. usually read it, didn’t today. The Hot Seat (interview with one Vince Frost). ditto. Cover Story interview with Antony. and his “gender-bending exterior”. and it went on and went on andwentonandwenton. a (Fashion) article about “today’s underclad bottoms”. “Like fathers, like son.” “Teak Outdoor Furniture Direct, factory direct to –-“, “Shady characters (Givenchy sunglasses $349 with large ‘50s-style fram–-“, “Buy the next book in John Marsden’s The Ell–- Real Revenge in fictional debauch–Oil be dam–SaleInterviewbuy–readpage21
–read--buy-read,salebuyreadbuyread9heiourabnghlksdfnkhnbd

i felt like the wheel in mister William Butler Yeats’ poem “the second coming” –
“turning and turning in the widening gyre
the falcon cannot hear the falconer;
things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;”

i feel like all that takes up my day is there merely to Take Up My Day.

i think of all the concerns that would be whirling around in the collective mind of humans at my breakfast time. “Let’s go down to DownTownUpTown for a Smores and Caf, honey” – New York City, Upper East Side, Female, 30, threw in the diet towel 3 days ago, to her Partner, Male, 34, never had a diet towel, but probably should have. “Bruno, you get this round, you stingy [suitable expletive]” – said in French, in Paris, St Germain quarter, by Male, 25, dressed in a Comme des Garcons linen suit way too inappropriately striped even for a je suis artiste en paris, to his 2 drinking buddies, both 25, and both dressed in no-really-this-is-My-individuality clothes.

okay, that didn’t really illustrate the many varied thoughts as much as the many varied ways one can faux–intimate things in a narrative description, a la Zadie Smith or Bridget Jones.

whilst thinking all this, the clock above the fridge showed 11:29 am = 1 hour after i had woken up and sat down for breakfast. if, as often done in the past, i had gone through the entire paper, it probably would have been 12:45pm. whereas, now, i was left with an extra 76 minutes of Time. free to be Occupied.

do activities ease the vertigo of us turningturningwheels? or do they slow the turning? or are they putty–cement for the centre, so that –though it spineth fast– the wheel can keep turningturning out of control?

and, yet, it is the simple things... a holding of hands on a second date. the smile from a dribbing baby on the train. the freshness of crisp that lingers after morning rain. the taste of good cheddar, branston pickle, and Carr’s crackers. kisses that heal, kisses that sear, kisses that hold you high... that make the turning Irrelevant. remind us that Things Too Big mustn’t be shifted. but they should left in the room (perhaps as a hatstand? maybe as pop–sculpture? probably as an extension of Background), whilst we continue to live – both in and outside of that room – having cancelled plans to spend the next 30 years of our lives with “but what about those Things Too Big?” defining our existence.

day 2-3, The One

2006-01-05T22:41:00.000+11:00

Under “Most” in The Annoying Things in the World, one will find The One That Got Away. For the fisherman, this One may be that strapping yellowfin that streaks away before he gets a good look at it, way before the subsequent hooking and reeling, and probably way before he could be sure it was a yellowfin or strapping. For the couch potato, this One may be that ad (#1) on telly which he glimpses as he returns from the kitchen, visually or aurally interesting enough to grab his attention only to promptly segue into ad #2, leaving him with fingerprints too partial to serve any identification purpose.

For me, the One is often that paragraph I read thinking “oh, how jolly!” / “oh, now, isn’t that clever?” only to (stupidly) keep reading on, pages pages pages on, before some curly question mark of intrigue raps me into wanting to re-read it. But by now, all is usually lost. The intervening pages, days, conversations, other books, having all conspired to whisk vagueness into my memory. And I am left mourning the loss of what was never really mine to lose in the first place.

This time, The Paragraph included some appropriately witty observations upon the conversation starters of “so, what do you do?” and “where do you live?”, made by some person walking into a party (?) and how he (she?) refused (?) to be so lashed down to such social contrivances. I had thought it was in the book (White Teeth, by Zadie Smith) I was presently reading, but after much (MUCH) poring over each page (in 100 page blocks), I concluded that I was sadly mistaken. For being not-in-this-book only meant The Paragraph was anywhere-else. Joy indeed. Perhaps it was in the memorial booklet obtituarising Kerry Packer, or one of several recent Herald broadsheets, or one of infinitely more internet pages – the land of The Et Cetera. Joy upon joys.

I wonder what it is – that causes humans to find these losses so infuriating and despondent-ising. Pertinently, the Find is only ever followed by the One being photographed, or purchased, or written down – before being stowed and forgotten forever. So perhaps it is lost pleasure; pleasure that would have been afforded us for a short time, had we (re–)possessed those Ones.

All of this going to show that Humans really are just a sorry bunch of creatures in varying degrees of enslavement to Pleasure in the Immediate. Not much vainglory to be had in that at all, really.

day 2-2, climbing (with photos)

2006-01-05T13:21:00.000+11:00

climbing rocks = (nectar + ambrosia) x 100. pure and sheer and unadulterated goodness.
painstakingly exported out from iphoto, here are a few espousing photos.

this one is the view from the top of a climb at barrenjoey headland. the midway cigar of greenery is palm beach (both sides) and the ocean is a shocking blue. the affected pink line is doogs' trusty rope.

this one is foxy, on a boulder problem called viva las vegas, forget the the sintchy grade 1 - it's pretty fun. this is out at the fear factory, in north epping, along the great north walk. lots of great ups, mainly crimpy face numbers, balancey, and some landings that just fall away from you. awesome.

seeing as there's more room here, some thoughts on bouldering:
1.1 all you need are shoes + chalk
1.2 headbands are a definite must for effect
1.3 tee shirts are a definite optional
1.4 climbing is not all about strength. balance and movement (as in smooth balance + fluid movement) are crucials
1.5 from a 1-mover to an epic 10-move beast, the activity of unlocking a physical puzzle claims an unshareable parallel

this is doogs on a overhung boulder somewhere in the Down There, beyond the initial alleyway climbing at Browns Road, Wahroonga. it was a blistering hot day and we decided to tramp down the hill and scope out new rock. there was lots of new, but i managed (too easily, too frequently) to get mighty infuriated by everything and anything, and that cut short any more climbing that day. (sorry mate).

2.1 the backwards cap is an undecided issue
2.2 one falling onto a thick mat (bottom R, with reddish logo) is infinitely more desirable than one not

finally, here is one of me on a short problem at sandy bay reserve (near mosman). it's this small broken stretch of sandstone blocks alongside the road that runs beside the bay there. really pretty surrounds. i guess another great bit about climbing is that one is more in a place, somehow one absorbs, feels, is, more in a place.

well, hopefully that was a pleasant enough expose on the love i have for climbing. more to come!

day 2-1, blogs, zadie, pescos

2006-01-05T10:10:00.001+11:00

one of the better fringe benefits of this blogging business is the re-wrapping of my mind around such key concepts as:
-- it's possible to remain seated at the desk for more than 10 mins --
-- tis better to get things done now, than done 2+ days later --
both of which i intend keeping plastered around my resolve to complete uni this year!!

"white teeth" is still being read. frequently long (Long) winded. i am frustrated at, yet empathatise with, zadie.

which brings me to pescatarianism (pesco vego). (pescos mentioned on p403). this is vegetarianism plus fish.
lacto vego = vegs + dairy (and/or diary), but not eggs
ovo vego = vegs + eggs
now, pollo vego = vegs + poultry = ??! like bread without flour, these people truly have no idea.

as of some inmagnificent day in late december, i decided to take a romanticised stand against The Cruel Upbringing of Food-Animals. (should "of"s and its gramma-tives be capitalised?) i feel that animals shouldn't have to sit in coops (chickens), stand in pens (cows + sheep), hoof/knee/whatever-deep in their own mess whilst pigging out on food in a moralised gluttony manner. its mean. which makes me a lacto-ovo-pesco-vegetarian. (see what i mean about reductionism? it's hard! much easier to say i'm not eating food farmed with cruelty. simple. not-Cola. see entry #1) and with The Move Out happening soon, my stand cannot be twisted into inflictions of parental pain. joy.

[pause]

mes apologies

2006-01-04T22:47:00.000+11:00

notes to self.
1. avoid verbosity.
2. aim for clarity.
3. spark interest.
4. retain interest.
5. preaching/rambling/ranting/dribbling are rarely appreciated
6. read 1-5 before writing future posts.

sorry team.

day 1, post 2, musings

2006-01-04T20:56:00.000+11:00

arial is so the supreme font. see what i mean? settled like a colony.

....

this is how this entry was going to start: "i've been reading the bible", but then i got thinking, so here goes with some compare-and-contrast (close exercise available on demand) with the following...
eg.1 = "i have been reading "white teeth" by zadie smith" AND "i have been reading "the bible" by God"
eg.2 = "i feel happy" AND "i feel blessed"

why do spiritual matters seem to give off a tacky air? to me, it's really unfortunate.
tacky airs encourage our subconscies (such a better plural for the subconscious) to do some PRE colouring-in of the Book of Impressions that we all have inside ourselves. since graduating from kindy, i've realised the sensibility of colouring-in AFTER processing what i read or hear.

just as its hard to change a green-crayoned spot into blue with a blue crayon, PRE-colouring-in is not the gold-star-high-achiever-sticker highway to effective communication. and if journalling is about sharing lives and walking together, doesn't it suck if the share-ee is unable to receive the intended message from the share-er? answer: derr!

SO, hopefully i will be able to avoid tacky airs, or any other (bad) airs for that matter, in these bloggings of mine.

anyway, i've been reading the bible. some scotsman (rob m'cheyne) devised some spag-bol bible-reading-plan (4 meatballs, 1 chapter each) which some american (donald carson) followed and wrote some commentary notes on. at the moment, i'm reading through Genesis and Nehemiah and Matthew and Acts.

the bible is a much more engrossing narrative than i had expected. it is fascinating to read about people making extraordinary travels and being someway privvy to their thoughts. on another level, having read certain bits before, it's like re-reading narnia (too populist? sorry) or [some other epic] = realising new things, correcting mis-remembered bits, et cet. right now, i'm re-tracing the footsteps of abraham, of nehemiah, of jesus, and of paul.

it has been very illuminating / helpful for me to read about how these people went about life, whilst professing some adherence to a Faith.

1. what god promises to abe does sound rather ludicrous (eg. you will have a son (abe being 100 years now at that time), i will make your descendants great (abe was a nomad)...) but not as incredible as the way they all do come true
2. nehemiah = some governor of israel ~450 BC, who re-built (well, with workers) the walls of jerusalem = the jeers and cheers he got from various sections of a metaphorical crowd
3. jesus = the stuff he says and does, the things he claims and delivers. it is truly breath-takingly audacious. i'm up to the bit where he talks about having to die soon on the cross. matt (the narrator) relates how there was a lot of, well, amazement, but also confusion as to what to make of everything he did and said. i get the feeling that jesus would have felt an incredibly deep isolation having to do things with his mates befuddled all the time, some times behind him, other times against him... not to mention the crowdscrowdscrowds
4. paul = the travels he makes across (modern-day) syria, turkey, greece, italy, telling people about his faith.

okay, time to sign off.

ps-1.
am up to page 355 of "white teeth". it is becoming more the rollicking good read i have heard touted it so often. rich and innovative use of language in dialogue and narration. fun and meaty characters. would love to knock off the rest of this tome by bed.

ps-2.
other ideas for the blog name seemed to wheel around things like "[something about human solidarity]", "fae dan", "looks and books", "wordtrack", and some other things my brain refused to retain.

ps-3.
for anyone who has seen Narnia (the wardrobe one), the scenes with those screamingly green pastures (with large grey boulders strewn everywhere) were shot at the place called Castle Hill in new zealand - its supposed to be this most amazing place for bouldering. well, it sure looks it. doogs, we have to go sometime this lifetime. but i'll settle for next year. ARIBAH!!

hello!

2006-01-04T15:17:00.000+11:00

reduction is hard work; choosing a blog name is like choosing which flavour of soda pop on a first date. there is a different sea of messages in each bottle. consider what Cola might say. that i am an everyman?? an affected retrostyler?? a simpleton??

here are some banners i had to wave around before committing to a blog name.

... to start, it's always nice to have some handy consolation around. of course it's hard work cramming meaning into words. something like that.

... the threat of permanance is no good bedfellow with the groan of perfectionism. sorry, that was me Trying Too Hard

[some other banners]

... one can always defer to the absolute beauty present in spontaneity. isn't the courage of the First Draft supposed to transform an Ill-Thought-Out-Mess into Palatable-Mess or Deliciousness?? i'm sure this is a poor rehash of some school of thought with which some stodge has carved out a medal for himself in academia. that was not supposed to be biting.

... by saying "not Cola", in ONE swoop, one has ingeniously felled the tree of reductionism and replace it with a huge swamp of inclusionnining = Sprite, Fanta, Sasparilla, Creaming Soda, Lemon Squash.

... ambiguousness is helpful. it can serve pride or philosophy or confusion or clarity. the comma (,) can mean "from", as in "[dan's message to you], from dan" or "to" (the "this is for you" to), as in "[some message], to dan"... hmm.. clarity.

... purpose. i suspect that the situation of post-modernity has stolen its placemat, (and replaced it, with 5 other mats) but purpose tends to lend direction even to waffle. what do i want this blog to be about? well, first let me remove this Pomposity Tophat, and i will write more.

1-1. thanks for reading!
1-2. there's more and better to come
1-3. i hope you're come back for 1-2.
1-4. there's more than telly, so live it!

dan