Okay, so some of you know that I've been searching for a job, and for those of you who know me, or have met me. I've had facial hair since I was about sixteen years old, and long hair since I was 18. I'm 24 now, so you can do the math. Normally I try to search for jobs that fit my personality, jobs that fit my personality and understand that how I look is a part of that. But when one really needs a job, what can you do? Beggars can't be choosers, and although most employers of my generation have come to the understanding that how we present ourselves to the world is a reflection of who we are on the inside. There is a value to how we look that goes much deeper than your normal first impression value. It's a reflection of our ontology (a reflection of who we are). Some people my age take it too far with surgical implants, full body tattoos, and piercings, but they are still representing their value system. Reflecting their uniqueness in all of creation. For instance, I have two tattoos that nobody else will ever have they reflect who I am in Christ, and my membership of the universal church. They could be copied later on....but it's not very likely.
Yesterday, I was panic stricken while trying to find employment. I had applied for over 10 places of business and not one of them called me back. So I went to a grocery store, I've worked in one before, and was over-qualified for the job, but there were two problems. My goatee and ponytail. The manager asked if "I was attached to those", and for a second I didn't know how to answer. The idea that a woman with long hair could work there with impunity while I was forced to change my appearance based upon my gender seemed biased and dishonoring. But even moreso, fifty years ago a man with a beard could probably work anywhere (save for those jobs where facial hair is a hazard. Like fire-fighting or something), but this job wasn't hazardous at all. Look at the picture above...that man's appearance wont ever stand out in a crowd (I don't know him by the way), or draw attention to his characteristics. He has a military hair-cut, and a militarily close shave. He fits in to the ideal, and that's great if that's what he going for. But what about the rest of us? Like I said before, I was over-qualified for the job, and I would've "blended in" if I had to...thank God I didn't. But what value was being exerted on me?
Allow me to open this posting by saying that, I have nothing important to say whatsoever at the moment. I'm actually just sitting in a coffee shop, which is awkwardly playing a CD I'm on, enjoying my anonymity. My wife and good friend are at a work meeting, and I'm sitting here, on a rather uncomfortable bench typing this message. There is a girl sitting on a red cushioned chair flipping pages in a magazine on the end of the room , a glamour rag no doubt, and listening to her headphones. Listening to her headphones rather than the CD (the one that I play bass on). She's not paying attention to me, actually she's completely unaware that I'm even here in the room typing about her. She'll never know. Although my wife and I frequent this particular cafe, and my wife even works here. I knew nothing about the girl working behind the counter. She doesn't work here much anymore, trying to get a job at a hospital as some sort of physician's something or other. Just like the girl on the other side of the room, she doesn't know that I'm telling you all about her. She knows my friend who works here, the friend who wrote the songs on the album that I played bass on, the album that is playing right now. It's interesting to me that three people can sit in a room and not even say so much as a word to each other. In fact, we'll all walk away without even paying deference to each other. I wont say anything to end-of-the-room girl at all, not even a casual goodbye. I'll probably smile discretely and wave to behind-the-counter-aspiringphysician'ssomethingorother when I leave. But I wont wonder about her life tomorrow, she'll leave my reality and that's pretty much the end on it. It's odd to sit around and do apparently nothing at all, but underneath the surface of it all is a wild and pulsating life of thought and essence. Although none of us have even talked to each other save for the mild pleasantries of commerce, there lies a myriad blanket of thought and intention weaving around all of us like one gigantic, and growing cobweb. And in the midst of that huge cobweb is the Spirit running frantically down the strands that are dusted with the very truths of God.
It's interesting to me that three people can sit in a room and not even say so much as a word to each other. In fact, we'll all walk away without even paying deference to each other. But what seems to be some sort of exercise in isolation is not that all. The things that connect man to man are not things that can be defined or improved upon. They simply are. We are all connected, all involved in this quiet afternoon over coffee, all playing dramatic, and interlocking roles. Weaving back and forth between each other through observation and thought, interpretation and conclusion. All serving a purpose beyond the tangibles that we can see, my friend's CD is singing truth out, bouncing it off the exposed brick walls and into our ears. Stirring sonic truth down to where it counts. Behind-the-counter-aspiringphysician'ssomethingorother is chatting it up with some guy about getting a different job, end-of-the-room girl is studying diligently across the room. I don't know what the subject is, but after spending that much time on her work I'd say that she should pass, but of course, she'll lose some crucial points on a pointless rote learning question that has no reflection on her study skills. Me? I'm just the photographer. None of these people had any idea that they would be the subject in an essay this afternoon, but I had no idea that I would be writing it either. Life is a lot like a Picasso painting, at first it looks like a bunch of bright scribbled lines, but when you step back it's all one canvas. All one afternoon over coffee.
Carl was a man who let his words run,
& run they did.
Wild & free.
They saw the smiling harvest,
and winking cities.
They saw the iron workers and railroads in their ore-clad marches.
They saw the fog settle down with tiny cat's feet,
& cows staring carelessly at the moon
in milk pails.
Carl was a man who let his words run,
and they sure ran fast!
They ran with Van Gogh's brush,
and Debussy's impressions.
Running wild and free.
Wild and Free
