I'm So Special

Steve over at Pithless Thoughts is posting a series of his original Ortho-Graphs in which through humor he does a wonderful job of deflating my (and probably your) sense of self-importance. He points out most eloquently that (among other things) we are all guilty of false piety, of an inflated sense of self, of believing that we are set apart and special, of pride.

The problem is that the act of writing about false piety and about how guilty I am is probably in itself false piety. But here goes.

“Look at me and how bad/depraved I am/was, how my childhood/upbringing was worse than yours, how I have had to work harder to achieve what I have and any degree of normalcy.”

I know I am guilty of writing about how I have had it worse in life than most folks and that I am therefore special and deserving of empathy/pity and admiration. I have used my struggles as an opportunity to proclaim like a chanticleer my specialness. I know that in some sense I am just sharing my life, my life experiences but I have to admit I enjoy getting responses. I guess the fact that all four sentences in this paragraph start with “I” pretty much says it all.

Steve also explores the always popular, “Look at me, look at how much of a sinner I am/was, look at how prideful and un-orthodox I used to be. You have no idea how far I have come on my journey. I was so Baptist, so Church of Christ, so pagan (you fill in the blank)….” Guilty as charged. In fact I can go one better and say my first church experience was at a Salvation Army church in the neighborhood in which I grew up. We were all so poor the SA had to put down permanent roots. Sad, but true. See, don’t you feel sorry for me now?

Do I write and post photos here because I want you to admire my work, to validate that I am a good photographer/writer/artist? On some level yes and I suspect I am not alone. This blog, this seeking of attention is a form of vanity. I check to see how many people have visited, how many people have commented, how many electronic contacts I have made. And despite my poor intentions I have come to know some very excellent folk through blogging (Steve being one of them).

Steve reminds me that I am nothing new under the sun, that my feelings of smugness are sadly not particular to me. Vanity, vanity. All is vanity.

Honor And Old Glory

I took the top photo at about 8:15 this morning. The river is the St. Marys River and the green horizon beyond that is Florida. It was one of those moments that held me transfixed as I was overcome by pride/joy/sorrow. I stood offering silent thanks to our Creator, to all those who have come before who held fast to the dream of a place where freedom reigns. The sight of our flag waving in the cool morning breeze reminded me once again that freedom is not free.

I don’t consider myself a super patriot. On probably too many occasions I criticize the Federal Government in general and the Bush administration in particular. But I understand just how blessed I am to live in America, to have the right to vote, to enjoy the freedom to live my life as I see fit, to worship free of government's grasp. And today I was once again struck by the simple beauty of our national flag. I think too many times it becomes ornamentation in our lives, just the backdrop to some group function. In our daily grind we forget just how important our Old Glory truly is.

Simple symbolism. Seven red stripes and six white represent the thirteen colonies at the beginning of our journey to nationhood. Fifty stars in a blue field for the fifty states, each separate yet integral to the inviolate whole. Our flag demonstrates our unity as a nation, as a people. It reminds us of who we are and from where we come. It is a symbol of our might and our commitment to right, of our compassion and of our steadfastness in the face of adversity. It is the reminder of the blood spilled, of the lives lost in our defense.

As a proud American and a former Marine the Iwo Jima image is for me and for many of us particularly potent. The Greatest Generation's fight on two disparate and but equally deadly fronts. We were still a nation in the making until the slumbering giant awoke to the sound of guns, the scream of battle, the looming threat.

Despite ourselves, despite the shoddy treatment we have too many times given our veterans we are blessed beyond all measure.

To ALL the veterans out there, thank you.

Bird Play

We soar like an eagle,
We sing like a bird,
We waddle like a penguin,
We feel the hawk blowing,
We wear an albatross necktie,
We are sometimes vultures,
We are sometimes chicken,
We sometimes eat crow,
We are free as a bird.
Maybe.

We have two small brown birds living in our living room. In a cage. We lock them in and grant them only a small universe. Instead of soaring free they perch. And they sing. They can see beyond their bars. They cannot escape.

To us they are pets, pretty amusements. To them we are jailers bringing bread and water. In what gilded cage do we live? Where do we get our bread and water? What is our song?

Pricked by pride we grasp and hold onto that which we cannot keep. Better to humble ourselves, to let go, to let God. Only then are we wise owls.