I am coming up in the world of technology and internet savvy. Here is a link to the India pictures I have been able to post on Flickr... www.flickr.com/photos/telumiel/
Let me know if the link doesn't work...still new to this, so patience please.
Pace~
27 January 2007
25 January 2007
India...
Before I post a few pictures, here are some thoughts, since that is what blogs are for. A couple days after I came back Jars of Clay's "Oh My God" popped up on my iPod. I don't know if they were thinking India when they wrote it (probably not), but the emotion this song holds toward humanity (and inhumanity) and the prayer it cries are, to me, a picture of my reflections of India. It is better to listen to this song, it starts out slow and low but ends pounding. However, posting that is probably a violation of some piracy law, and, as I do not want to go to jail, I will just post the lyrics (and encourage you to buy the song and or CD "Good Monsters"). Without further ado, Jars of Clay...
As tintillating as India may seem, in my pictures and in others, it holds no answers, only questions. And the Western mind seeks those questions as a cat seeks the fire, wanting warmth not knowing the fur will catch fire. Of all the things that surprised me, the greatest and one of the saddest was the number of Westerners "seeking" truth, Shiva's ashes rubbed upon their forehead. I share these pictures only as a call to prayer, nothing more. To succeed in that is joy enough.
More to come later, but Panera is closing and I must go. It is a sad state of affairs when the internet in India is more reliable than my internet at home. Irony of ironies.
Pace~
edited 07-01-27 by the Walrus
"Oh My God"
Oh my God, look around this place
Your fingers reach around the bone
You set the break and set the tone
Flights of grace, and future falls
In present pain
All fools say, "Oh my God"
Oh my God, Why are we so afraid?
We make it worse when we don't bleed
There is no cure for our disease
Turn a phrase, and rise again
Or fake your death and only tell your closest friend
Oh my God.
Oh my God, can I complain?
You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief
Weddings, boats and alibis
All drift away, and a mother cries
Liars and fools; sons and failures
Thieves will always say
Lost and found; ailing wanderers
Healers always say
Whores and angels; men with problems
Leavers always say
Broken hearted; separated
Orphans always say
War creators; racial haters
Preachers always say
Distant fathers; fallen warriors
Givers always say
Pilgrim saints; lonely widows
Users always say
Fearful mothers; watchful doubters
Saviors always say
Sometimes I cannot forgive
And these days, mercy cuts so deep
If the world was how it should be, maybe I could get some sleep
While I lay, I dream we're better,
Scales were gone and faces light
When we wake, we hate our brother
We still move to hurt each other
Sometimes I can close my eyes,
And all the fear that keeps me silent falls below my heavy breathing,
What makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder
We all feel the need for wonder
We still want to be reminded that the pain is worth the thunder
Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven
All the times I thought to reach up
All the times I had to give
Babies underneath their beds
Hospitals that cannot treat all the wounds that money causes,
All the comforts of cathedrals
All the cries of thirsty children - this is our inheritance
All the rage of watching mothers - this is our greatest offense
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God, look around this place
Your fingers reach around the bone
You set the break and set the tone
Flights of grace, and future falls
In present pain
All fools say, "Oh my God"
Oh my God, Why are we so afraid?
We make it worse when we don't bleed
There is no cure for our disease
Turn a phrase, and rise again
Or fake your death and only tell your closest friend
Oh my God.
Oh my God, can I complain?
You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief
Weddings, boats and alibis
All drift away, and a mother cries
Liars and fools; sons and failures
Thieves will always say
Lost and found; ailing wanderers
Healers always say
Whores and angels; men with problems
Leavers always say
Broken hearted; separated
Orphans always say
War creators; racial haters
Preachers always say
Distant fathers; fallen warriors
Givers always say
Pilgrim saints; lonely widows
Users always say
Fearful mothers; watchful doubters
Saviors always say
Sometimes I cannot forgive
And these days, mercy cuts so deep
If the world was how it should be, maybe I could get some sleep
While I lay, I dream we're better,
Scales were gone and faces light
When we wake, we hate our brother
We still move to hurt each other
Sometimes I can close my eyes,
And all the fear that keeps me silent falls below my heavy breathing,
What makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder
We all feel the need for wonder
We still want to be reminded that the pain is worth the thunder
Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven
All the times I thought to reach up
All the times I had to give
Babies underneath their beds
Hospitals that cannot treat all the wounds that money causes,
All the comforts of cathedrals
All the cries of thirsty children - this is our inheritance
All the rage of watching mothers - this is our greatest offense
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
As tintillating as India may seem, in my pictures and in others, it holds no answers, only questions. And the Western mind seeks those questions as a cat seeks the fire, wanting warmth not knowing the fur will catch fire. Of all the things that surprised me, the greatest and one of the saddest was the number of Westerners "seeking" truth, Shiva's ashes rubbed upon their forehead. I share these pictures only as a call to prayer, nothing more. To succeed in that is joy enough.
More to come later, but Panera is closing and I must go. It is a sad state of affairs when the internet in India is more reliable than my internet at home. Irony of ironies.
Pace~
edited 07-01-27 by the Walrus
19 January 2007
The Final Frontier
Ok, so maybe this post doesn't match the title, but I like it and since it is my blog, I can use it. To stretch the title, my final frontier is travelling home. Our flight leaves tonight at midnight, and despite my counter prayers of getting stuck and missing work on Monday, we should arrive home at noon on Sunday, CA time. It has been quite an adventure, one which I will be posting further about once home and the mind begins to debrief.
Thank you so much for those of you that prayed. The film came back (it had to go to Bombay...yet another adventure in India). There was no sign of the scratch affecting the pictures. I have taken many more with both the digital and the film, so there is quite the record of our trip.
See you all soon!
PS - for another look at this trip, have a look at the team site (sorry I forgot to mention it until now)...Donna did a great post a few days ago that should tide you all over... xanga.com/indiateam
Thank you so much for those of you that prayed. The film came back (it had to go to Bombay...yet another adventure in India). There was no sign of the scratch affecting the pictures. I have taken many more with both the digital and the film, so there is quite the record of our trip.
See you all soon!
PS - for another look at this trip, have a look at the team site (sorry I forgot to mention it until now)...Donna did a great post a few days ago that should tide you all over... xanga.com/indiateam
11 January 2007
The Second Lesson
What follows is a little introspectivity I did yesterday. Had fun India times getting it posted...the internet wasn't connecting, then the mouse wasn't moving, then the computer was all of a sudden in parts on the floor (by the nice man who in charge of the computers...not me). But all is back together today, so here are some thoughts...
Cross-cultural travel is always interesting. Being thrust into an entirely different situation – different smells, sights, sounds. Our brains have difficulty getting used to everything different. It is called culture shock for a good reason.
In preparing to come to India, I knew there would be such shock. To borrow a phrase, “if there is a bright center to the universe, we are on the planet furthest from.” Yes, there is McDonald’s here, but it is guarded by a man in a starched uniform who stands by a podium with the words “Please Wait To Be Seated” carved into it. Not your American fast food, by any stretch of the imagination. And that is just an easily translated example.
So in my sinfulness, I tried to take the easy way out. I shut down. I am ashamed to admit it, but for the first few days of experiencing India, I felt nothing; I made myself feel nothing. Call me a coward, for that is what I am; I was afraid of the pain of empathy. And the saddest part is that in not feeling their pain I could not love them. What scares me the most is that in hardening my heart towards the people of India, my heart was also hardened toward God.
I had taken two whole rolls of pictures before I confronted my idiocy. And it was my stupidity that forced the issue. My camera developed a small fleck. In my probably ill-advised attempts to remove this speck, however gentle, I scratched my camera.
The result – tears. Yes, I bawled. Not just because I had scratched my camera, although that was definitely a factor. I felt as though my hiding mechanism had been taken away; I could not hide behind my camera anymore. I could not see India from the safe distance behind my lens. It would come crashing in and I didn’t know what to think or feel about that because I had shut all of that down.
My sister, being the wonderful person she is, counseled me to let her take the camera and finish the roll. I would walk join her in a walk-about without it. So for the first time, after being here for four days, I experienced India. And it did break my heart. But the Lord bound it up again and, in doing so, made is possible for me to love.
Halfway through our walk, I had the camera for a moment. And I took my first picture because I loved the person in it. Not the subject, not the composition, the person. There was an old woman begging and my heart loved her. I wanted to tell her story of sitting on a cold sidewalk with an outstreached hand as pants walk by day after day, hoping those pants will drop a coin or bit of food. I don’t know if the picture will turn out, but I do know that I have that picture in my soul. She doesn’t know it, but that woman was my first true introduction to India.
Being of a more rational mind now, I am not sure if this scratch will affect the pictures. We are attempting to develop the roll soon to see. I do have a digital camera for backup and will be using that, although I am not completely comfortable with it. Pray that it will give the pictures we need. And pray that my heart will stay soft. Until next time...
Cross-cultural travel is always interesting. Being thrust into an entirely different situation – different smells, sights, sounds. Our brains have difficulty getting used to everything different. It is called culture shock for a good reason.
In preparing to come to India, I knew there would be such shock. To borrow a phrase, “if there is a bright center to the universe, we are on the planet furthest from.” Yes, there is McDonald’s here, but it is guarded by a man in a starched uniform who stands by a podium with the words “Please Wait To Be Seated” carved into it. Not your American fast food, by any stretch of the imagination. And that is just an easily translated example.
So in my sinfulness, I tried to take the easy way out. I shut down. I am ashamed to admit it, but for the first few days of experiencing India, I felt nothing; I made myself feel nothing. Call me a coward, for that is what I am; I was afraid of the pain of empathy. And the saddest part is that in not feeling their pain I could not love them. What scares me the most is that in hardening my heart towards the people of India, my heart was also hardened toward God.
I had taken two whole rolls of pictures before I confronted my idiocy. And it was my stupidity that forced the issue. My camera developed a small fleck. In my probably ill-advised attempts to remove this speck, however gentle, I scratched my camera.
The result – tears. Yes, I bawled. Not just because I had scratched my camera, although that was definitely a factor. I felt as though my hiding mechanism had been taken away; I could not hide behind my camera anymore. I could not see India from the safe distance behind my lens. It would come crashing in and I didn’t know what to think or feel about that because I had shut all of that down.
My sister, being the wonderful person she is, counseled me to let her take the camera and finish the roll. I would walk join her in a walk-about without it. So for the first time, after being here for four days, I experienced India. And it did break my heart. But the Lord bound it up again and, in doing so, made is possible for me to love.
Halfway through our walk, I had the camera for a moment. And I took my first picture because I loved the person in it. Not the subject, not the composition, the person. There was an old woman begging and my heart loved her. I wanted to tell her story of sitting on a cold sidewalk with an outstreached hand as pants walk by day after day, hoping those pants will drop a coin or bit of food. I don’t know if the picture will turn out, but I do know that I have that picture in my soul. She doesn’t know it, but that woman was my first true introduction to India.
Being of a more rational mind now, I am not sure if this scratch will affect the pictures. We are attempting to develop the roll soon to see. I do have a digital camera for backup and will be using that, although I am not completely comfortable with it. Pray that it will give the pictures we need. And pray that my heart will stay soft. Until next time...
08 January 2007
The First Lesson
Arrived in India yesterday night. So far my impressions have been limited data gathering, but I have learned one thing so far…DON’T eat the chilies. And how do I know this, you ask? I will tell you.
My rice salad today at lunch had garnishes, a slice of onion, a slice of cucumber, and what looked to me to be a mutant green bean. I saw this green bean and I thought “I love green beans. I am so happy to have this grean bean.” So I popped it in my mouth with the spoonful of rice already in there.
I munched. I was happy.
I swallowed. I was happy.
But then my mouth began to hurt. The rice must be more spicy than I thought as I took another bite. I swallowed. My lips were burning by now and everytime my tongue touched the roof of my mouth more fire erupted. Wow, that was some spicy rice. It will go away soon, I thought. My fellow teammates were discussing Tony Romo’s almost-hall-of-fame moment and were naturally not paying attention to my reddening face, which I did not want to bring to their attention anyway. That was some really spicy rice. All thresholds I thought existed on the pain one mouth could contain had been surpassed. Finally, I could sit in silence no more.
I squirmed. I whimpered. I all out bawled.
My companions finally noticed my distress.
I got sympathy. I got chuckles. I got pity.
also was informed that it was the “green bean” that was the cause of my present troubles. Needless to say, the rest of my meal consisted of naan bread in a futile attempt to cool the burning sensation. That lovely event occurred about 15 minutes later when my nerves finally shut down in numbness, exhausted from shouting at my brain that they were being tortured.
When asking our fellow diners if they would eat an entire chili, one man replied, “I am not stupid.” They say you learn best from experience. Well, this is one experience I will not be forgetting the lesson of anytime soon. While in foreign countries, double check all vegetables for edibility before heartily consuming.
My rice salad today at lunch had garnishes, a slice of onion, a slice of cucumber, and what looked to me to be a mutant green bean. I saw this green bean and I thought “I love green beans. I am so happy to have this grean bean.” So I popped it in my mouth with the spoonful of rice already in there.
I munched. I was happy.
I swallowed. I was happy.
But then my mouth began to hurt. The rice must be more spicy than I thought as I took another bite. I swallowed. My lips were burning by now and everytime my tongue touched the roof of my mouth more fire erupted. Wow, that was some spicy rice. It will go away soon, I thought. My fellow teammates were discussing Tony Romo’s almost-hall-of-fame moment and were naturally not paying attention to my reddening face, which I did not want to bring to their attention anyway. That was some really spicy rice. All thresholds I thought existed on the pain one mouth could contain had been surpassed. Finally, I could sit in silence no more.
I squirmed. I whimpered. I all out bawled.
My companions finally noticed my distress.
I got sympathy. I got chuckles. I got pity.
also was informed that it was the “green bean” that was the cause of my present troubles. Needless to say, the rest of my meal consisted of naan bread in a futile attempt to cool the burning sensation. That lovely event occurred about 15 minutes later when my nerves finally shut down in numbness, exhausted from shouting at my brain that they were being tortured.
When asking our fellow diners if they would eat an entire chili, one man replied, “I am not stupid.” They say you learn best from experience. Well, this is one experience I will not be forgetting the lesson of anytime soon. While in foreign countries, double check all vegetables for edibility before heartily consuming.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)