Mezzo Travelling

In what consists of the silent majority of my trip:
I left Kenya on Feb. 25 and I arrived in Uzbek on March 13. Today is
March 15th and I am sitting among Ben's Newspaper class (yes, I
stick out a little bit among the seventh graders). The question for this
blog is: what the frick was I doing from the 25th to the 13th. Well, you got a
taste of my Oxford experience with the last posting. After chilling in
Oxford for about a week Timm went to Portugal and I went to Norway (and then
Sweden, then back to Norway, then back to London). Scandinavia was
beautiful; I had a pretty phenomenal time, and I met some pretty phenomenal
people. At first (in England) I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything, I was stuck asking myself what the hell am I doing? I either want to be back in Africa
or in the states; the reason I left Africa was to come to the states...so
what am I doing hanging around in England waiting for a visa to go to
Uzbek? It was not until I picked myself up by the bootstraps, and began
to confess that this weird in between time is, in fact, in *time - *it is
not something I can just wait out; it is something I should be taking
advantage of and living the life I want to live, not merely waiting for
something eventful to happen. Thus, I bought a next-day plane ticket to
Norway.
My thoughts during this straddling of Kenya and Uzbek were a bit like this (this is an entry from my moleskin):
:
I sit now, as I have many times before, in the basement of the Ashmolean museum - my hands cold, my sense of time muddled, and my chest feeling tight, as if the bones were trying to crush the heart.
The coldness in my hands is a result of walking. Slow and impatiently I proceed to drift along the streets with my travelling companion: Timm. The walking is tedious because it lacks direction or even purpose, and i'm in a hurry to acquire both. I want to walk faster when I am with Timm just so I can be done with it, as if the faster I get it done the faster I will be done with it and ready to move on to something else. However, as is apparent in my step, I only feel this urge and uneasiness when I walk with someone other than myself. As a solitary walker I step with ease, sloth, and wonder; I stroll. Why am I so different walking with someone else, as opposed to walking alone? Easy. When I am with another I think of the other: their well-being, intention, desire; alone I think only of myself and the strangers around me. I Cater to no one, but use the time for perfect reflection. Walking alone is one my favorite things to do.
My sense of time is muddled. I think Dali was right in his surrealist assertion of the constant, inseparable flux of space and time. A cavity filling may take an eternity, while an all-night conversation with an old friend may flash by in the wink of an eye. Time is what you make it, and I have made mine a capricious mess. Living in the space/time between Kenya and the future has been nothing short of a depression: depressing ideas, emotions, senses, and, in the end, my entire life. The depression though is a self-fulfilling prophecy based on a myth. I claimed that I was living in the margins between Africa (the past) and Uzbek (the future) giving it no credence itself. The myth is that one can live apart from the past and the future. (I don't mention anything about the present here because I assume that those reading are aware that one, in fact, always lives presently unable to access past or future, save the imagination). So, living in this created non-time I have tricked everything into moving very slowly in no particular direction, like entropy, believing that somewhere other than the place I am is where I should be - on every level. It's like looking in some direction and saying: "there is where I am".
It's a funny thing when certain parts of your body wage war on others, I guess I don't know, or can't really explain why my bones are pressing my herat. I can tell you it hurts. I think I could quite easily extrapolate some lesson from it, or posit some analogy that propounds a northern, developed, consumerist suffocation of the raw, beautiful, charged humanity inside me (the bones are the conventional life and the heart is..um...the heart). But I think I will just leave it at: my chest hurts, with my best guest being last nights fish n' chips.
But. Things are changing. I am now turning a corner. I no longer want to live in a muddle: depressed, confused, self-obsessed. To look at the future lifts me; the future calls me to live - the future in the past. When I look back on my history in Africa it points me to the future. Before today I saw the past as only the past: flat, still, static. I sliced it into information, superimposing some odd metaphysical structure. When I thought about my history in Africa I dehistoricized it; that is to say, I took the time (the historical thing) out of it. When I look back now I remember that I lived then, and the people that were in my life also were living toward the future. We were living toward something. Looking back into the past realizing that those people were, or are, looking to the future as rich and dynamic people. As I look to the past it turns me to the future; looking back gives me hope. "[history] It turns you around in your turn" (Moltman). As I turn to the past the past pushes me to the future.
I guess, basically, what I am talking about is: hope; I am talking about the Eschaton, I am talking about living a missional life; I am talking about being one sent out into the world.
I feel myself moving, turning a corner, not because of some arbitrary act of volition, but because I am growing more, I am beginning to see my past time in Africa as eschatology. But, most importantly I am feeling movement. In this awkward stage, in this particular flux of space and time, I don't feel stuck in a fold of "non-time" but rather I am living in the reality of the kingdom of God.
:
So, I just picked up and flew to Norway. I literally knew nothing about the
place except that I have always wanted to go there, I haven't seen snow yet
this year, and the plane ticket is super cheap. Well, I end up meeting a
stellar, kind-hearted student of the U of Oslo on the flight over. I end up
staying with him for my entire time in Norway. Man, did I have a good time
in Norway; not only did I see all the sights in Oslo, but I also got to
spend some quality frolicking-time in lot's and lot's of snow. I loved it.
One could even say I fell in Love with Norway. It's funny though...I thought
I was going to do some quality reflecting/processing-of-Africa while I was
there, especially during the hikes. You know...solo hiking, nature, ipod,
moleskin...how could I not? However, the truth is: I just flat out had fun.
I mean, I just hiked around listening to Joni Mitchell, sliding down sledding
hills playing in the snow. It is hard to describe...It is like when a
little kid wakes and discovers the first snow of the season on his window
ledge. It just felt good. I just hiked and played; my mind wasn't troubled
by any ominous issues beyond my capabilities (the usual). HOwever, when I got
to Sweden that all changed. I hunkered down (in the way Amy Bethka would
hunker down in Alaska with tea and family after sledding) in a little coffee
shop in the island, old-city of Stockholm and began to write. I wrote and
wrote, for hours. I spent the rest of that day walking (seeing what
Stockholm was all about) and 'thinking progressive thoughts.' That evening I
met up with some Swed's, hooked up some sweet dancing, and crashed at one of
their places - it was a lot of fun.
I guess for all the thinking time I have had since the last blog I have not
made much progress as it applies to America. I am still fearful of coming
back. I am attempting to work through this now, but being in Uzbekistan is
actually making that process, what seems to be, more difficult. I have only
been here for a couple days, but it is more like Africa (in a much, much
different way) than England, Norway, or Sweden. The poverty here is so
different from Africa, I don't know what to make of it yet. It is not
exactly up front, but it is still present. PLease pray that as I begin to
transition back to America that I would not be motivated to take actions
out of fear, but rather out of love -love for those in my life, love for the
image of God in myself, love for the people I have been with during this
time.

Welp, I suppose that's all for now.

Buku Love.

Paul: I'm in one.

Deja: Your quote reminds me of Mark three: when Jesus takes his anger (or being greatly distressed) and heals a man's deformed hand. It is not that we should not get angry, but it is what we do with that anger that matters. I can't get over that when Jesus gets pissed off he heals someone...
Thank you for your prayers and excitement. The whirlwind has continued, but it is rapidly coming to an end. Please pray that I wouldn't fear the united states. Oh, and I am glad that you are making use of that pile of dusty pages that I have the audacity to keep around. I am glad someone is gaining something from those books. And, no worries on the card catalog system - it pretty much consists of me not having any idea where my books are (I only notice when books are missing when I want to read them, so..it is super easy to steal the ones I don't use anymore).

Steph: Frick steph, it so stinken good to hear from you! I could not agree with you more on so many different levels. I agree with you about the Mercy ship; that is to say, it sounds absolutely incredible. I was very close to hopping on that ship this past fall myself (doing menial, unskilled labor of course). It sounds phenomenal, I am so excited for you. Ah..just thinking about you doing that makes me gitty. I too agree with you about our current community, or lack thereof. I find myself telling a lot of people in my life about this super cool girl I know in Austin without having any intention on talking to you myself. Gosh, when I think about it, it makes me feel kinda dumb. I concur with you and propose that we began to open the lines of communication again - whatever that looks like.

Tay: Thank you for your words. I think of you and bill quite a bit often wondering what your lives look like: you being pregnant, bill being a youth pastor, you guys living in a house, living/working amongst such an elite class of people... I hope things are moving swimmingly for the two of you. My travels are rapidly closing, and a time is coming when I will find myself in the states. I am still not sure when I will be in Michigan, but I don't foresee it being far off. Much love.

Kell: The word is in, moreover I am in. I am here, and don't worry I will write about the uzbek soon. Take care.

Hahnamonster: frick.

J$: You went to Isanbul again!! Crazy! I hope it was as amazing has your past visits. I am so excited to hear all about it. How long were you there? Who did you go with this time? I guess I will have to ask you about it soon when I get home. I heard the story about Christina from Laurel awhile ago, that stuff is so crazy. Your story is amazing, especially b/c it involves things like: caribou, ram's horn, and the ghost and the darkness. Welp, much love to you man. I will be back in the states in just over two days...and soon after that I am sure I will make my way to Michigan...