June 23: "Medieval Photography," Cut That Shit Out, "Sea of Galilee"

Billy Collins believes a memory is worth a thousand pictures . . . 

Medieval Photography

by: Billy Collins

Nothing came out very well.

People thought sitting still was odd.

Black-and-white had yet to be conceived,

even though many days were grey

with low clouds and unpredictable rain.

You remembered someone by closing your eyes.

I miss the days when my kids were kids, before puberty and peer pressure and all the shit that goes along with growing up.  Life was a lot simpler before we had to navigate all the mine fields of angst and hormone-driven anger.  I close my eyes and remember those nights when my daughter was eight, holding her infant brother in her lap like he was the best birthday/Christmas present she'd ever received.

This weekend, I listened to four separate sermons on the Gospel story of Jesus and his disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee when I storm blows in.  You know what happens.  Jesus is napping, and the disciples wake him up because they're afraid the boat is going to founder and capsize, killing them all.  Jesus basically says, "Cut that shit out," and the wind and waves calm down.

The gist of all of the sermons was pretty simple--trust in God when you encounter storms in your life.  Easy to say.  Hard to do.  Yeah, I know that's what faith is all about--trust and belief, blah blah blah.  Yet, when a storm in screaming in your face and you think you're going to drown, it's pretty damn difficult to think, "Oh, no worries.  God's got my back."

So nostalgia kicks in, and you start rationalizing, "Wow, things were so much better five, six, seven, ten, or 20 years ago."  Of course, that's a load of crap, too.  Being a human being pretty much guarantees that life is going to be imperfect.  We're all fuckups, from the moment we enter crying to the moment we exit dying.  That means that all of our little boats are going to be tossed and swamped every day. 

If you're trying to read subtext in this post, forget it.  Yes, something shitty happened today.  No, I'm not going to discuss it.  You will just have to be satisfied knowing that I'm angry and sad tonight.  I'm trying to work through it, but the storm is still raging.  And I can't wake Jesus up to fix things miraculously.  (God hasn't worked like that for a long, long time.)

Instead, Saint Marty's just going to keep paddling and hoping he reaches the shore before his lungs fill with water.

Sea of Galilee

by: Martin Achatz

Sure, Jesus was napping

while the waves howled--

he remembered to take

his Dramamine.

September 8: Pepto Bismol, Billy Collins, "Walking Across the Atlantic"

So many times, I've read that fear is the opposite of faith.

If that is true, I'm pretty much doomed.  For instance, over the last few years, I've convinced myself that I'm dying of several ailments, from heart disease to lung cancer to esophageal cancer.  Working in the health care profession is not a good thing for me.

Right now, I'm suffering from some terrible heartburn.  Blame it on too much Diet Mountain Dew and a plate of lasagna for dinner.  It feels like something's trying to crawl up my throat.  It's a terrifying feeling.  Like an alien is about to burst from my chest.  The first few times I experienced this, I ended up getting stress tests and chest x-rays.

Now, my fears are not unfounded.  My brother suffered a stroke two years before he died.  My sister died of lymphoma of the brain.  But, of course, living in a constant state of I'm-about-to-die is not very fun.

I trust that I'm not dying tonight.  I'll just suck down some Pepto-Bismol and say a prayer that I'll start feeling better.  Sort of like Jesus telling Peter to walk across the Sea of Galilee.  I've got to take that step tonight.

Saint Marty is just taking that leap of faith tonight.  And some more Pepto.

Walking Across the Atlantic

by:  Billy Collins

I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.

Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.

But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.