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Mar. 19th, 2009

dark

wow!

Today was stressful--but not a bad stress; Just busy. I have to make some hard decisions about what I should do in my career in the next week, and I really need prayer for those decisions.

gulp! I hate making decisions!
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Feb. 4th, 2009

innocent

Reynolds, John M "Achilles" II 12-22-03

It is not a question of whether I am superior in every way to my fellow man, but why and when I became this way. When I was born, was I not as soft and pink as any newborn, or beneath that childlike exterior, did my heart truly beat with steadier countenance, and with nobler thought? Could my skin have been strong as iron then –surely not! For my mother, smart as she was, would have noticed something like that. The doctors would have noticed that their needles would not penetrate my skin.
And what of the months that came before my birth? Had I been different from any other child, surely I would have ruined the womb that I was carried in, and hurt her badly. My mother says I was perfect from the moment she set eyes upon me, but that cannot be helped—she is a mother and therefore she is bias and my superior wits and brain state that I must throw out her words as nothing more than that.
My first recorded Deed of Good, the first one with any reliability, came when I was but a boy of six. I remember it clearly, for that was the year that I started the ISSA, along with a dear friend of mine, at the time, Dr. Yonnon J Drew. We had worked very hard that past year to keep things on schedule and we were very pleased to be having our opening day ceremonies on the very day we predicted—much to our critic and competitor’s chagrin. Before the event Yon was exceedingly fidgety and nervous; he never had my natural charm, poor man. He took a short walk to “blow off some steam” and I trailed behind him to make sure he would be okay, and also to make sure he was back in time for the ceremonies, as he was known for being late.
Here memory fails me. I can’t recall if I ran into Yon or not, but I believe I did as he was later very angry with me for no apparent reason. The press is no help here either, as the events that followed, the ceremony and, more importantly, the attempted assassination of the good doctor, overshadowed any disagreement we might have had. Yon gave his speech first, and did remarkably well for all of his nerves. I was next, they gave me a little step latter so I could reach the podium—it was quite embarrassing—and my speech went quite well, I had given many by that time. I was nearly through with it, about 83.5 percent done, when I saw a man in the back of the crowd take out a pistol. No one else noticed, because most of their backs were to the man as they were facing me and the stage I was on. Yon was sitting next to me, along with some other rather unremarkable dignitaries, and I quickly assessed the situation: Yon was the target, the gun was pointing straight at him, and no one would notice until it was far too late. I can’t say that I weighed my life against Yon’s or that I deemed him more worthy of the next few years than I was. What I did was pure instinct. I jumped on Yon and put myself between him and the bullet. Maybe I was hoping they wouldn’t shoot a child, I don’t know.
The gun man shot the moment he saw me move toward Yon. He had time to launch two well aimed bullets toward him. One was meant for Yon’s chest, the other his head, between the eyes. I, of course, ruined the plan. The first bullet went into my back and the second into the back of my head.
But they didn’t wedge their way into my flesh, cutting and tearing along the way, as they would have a normal person’s. Rather they slightly dented my flesh, and my scull as if I were a car or some man made of metal, for about two days until the dents disappeared.
It was the look in Yon’s eyes that got me. The amazement, the gratitude and love. I know he had some hard times before that, accepting me for who I was, accepting me as a friend. Our gap in age startled him, as did my diminutive size that was a result of my age. But somehow my saving him made me more human, more real.
To the rest of the world it made me less so, and they loved it. I was lauded as a hero—celebrated as a god from that day forward. And yet, despite the whole world’s admiration, out of what I got that day it was really Yon’s friendship and trust that I valued far above the other. They could have bowed on bended knee and it would have meant little if he wasn’t there, standing beside me.

From the notes of John Reynolds II, AKA Achilles.
Dated: December 22nd, 2503
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dark

ISSA – International Science and Space Academy

Started in 2452, the International Science and Space Academy (herein referred to as ISSA) was formed by John Reynolds II, more commonly known as Achilles or The Achilles, and Dr. Yonnon J Drew of the United Space Administration. Upon opening, Dr. Drew gave a speech that summarized the purpose and mission of the ISSA as primarily being “to advance the human experience beyond the bounds of our own Galaxy, and to cultivate intergalactic relations with beings yet to be known.” John Reynolds speech seemed to take on a different air saying that the purpose of the ISSA was to “advance mankind’s reach and influence into the unknown” and to “further develop the natural resources in our universe.” Many historians cite this as the first sign of the natural misalignment of the two that would eventually lead to the collapse of the ISSA as well as their friendship.

Dec. 29th, 2008

dark

lack of sun

The internet is simply too vast to write anything properly inspiring. When writing a blog, it is like shouting out words to empty sand dunes. “Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair” to an empty room full of dust.
To tell the truth writing a blog always makes me feel terribly inadequate. I have a very simple and unchallenging life. It is a good life. I live comfortably with two of my best friends and my sister and her roommate come and visit often. We drink wine and watch movies (now on our new 47 inch TV).
Financially I am only moderately plagued by the current American fear of job annihilation. I am fighting the good fight to concur my Student Loans. I like my work, and what is more, I am well liked here. I move through life like water through a glass. Easy, I dance through it. I have my struggles, but they are few. I live the good life.
And then I sit down to write my blog and I realize that I have nothing interesting to say. Most of the thoughts that race through my head are silly shallow ones of no importance. Upon writing I try to dig deeper, I look through the pool, past my own reflection. I see the worlds below--worlds of different languages and deeper meaning. How easily I slide above the surface. It disgusts me.
Perhaps I need to find contentment in just being unremarkable. Those writers and artists who touched so many of us lived unhappy lives, for the most part. The path ahead of me is dark.

I don’t know

I just don’t know…


This time of year is hard for me. The lack of sun casts an angry dark shadow upon my heart. I feel like a human solar panel—lacking a charge. It is not when all of my flaws and insignificance comes out in mass. Perhaps all I need is a little Sun.

Dec. 1st, 2008

dark

Shinigami like apples

My computer is down. Yikes. Some missing file or the like...I don't remember what the start up screen said. Not the blue screen of death though, so that is good. I am going to start running again. Rather I just did yesterday—went around the whole lake (really slowly) and it felt great. I thought I might keep track of it here. So, yesterday, 11/30/08- 2.8 miles, slow pace. Trying to drink a lot of water today.

Nov. 21st, 2008

dark

I am sick...yet

It gives me a chance to do things I haven't done in a long, long time. Like write in LiveJournal.

The most annoying thing is I have once more lost my voice, making me a useless choir member. Yikes! I really need to get it back by next Wednesday (the next practice). Don't get me wrong, I am not the best singer in the world or anything, but I really love to sing! I love walking down the street singing (now that I can't blast the radio and sing in my car, I make do with my ipod and the street...yes I am THAT crazy person). I like making up songs, softly humming to myself. It is in my blood!

And I love being a part of choir! It is like being a single string on a guitar--an amazing feeling of being part of something!

Furthermore, I love talking -- you may laugh if you like. I love using impassioned words to express myself. That is why I like DMing (that and making up stories). It is really fun to be the voice box of my characters.

This too shall pass, and then I will sing again. In the meantime, this is a good reason for me to practice my guitar more.

Jan. 27th, 2008

dark

A Confession

What is it about the heart of humanity that drives us to be so inconsistent look back at thoughts that I have held, words I have said, things I have done with a painful sort of regret that I can, at best, learn from, and, at worst, justify.
Why would I do that, say that, think that when on reflection it does nothing to merit my character as anything close to good. How am I to hope for people to care for my respect when I do nothing to inspire respect for me? What horrible things have I done while stumbling through life, and how many have I hurt when I meant nothing of the kind?
Yet, it is too easy to point the finger at others; to justify my actions by comparing them to worse actions. I cannot imagine that this makes me any better in the eyes of God--and if not in His eyes what does it matter? Is it horrible that I don't wish just to be saved by mercy but to also be deserving of that grace that God has given to me? But I am painfully flawed. My mind wanders toward prideful and sinful thoughts even if my body remains unmoving.
Amazingly, He remains. Though I deserve nothing, He holds me up and gives me chance after chance to turn once again toward Him--every time that I turn away.
And because of this, is not His grace that much more wonderful? The only things I can give to Him are the things that are His already: my time, gifts, resources, my life. And yet he treats these as treasures. Because my hands are empty, because my heart is hard and my thought are no good, His grace is more beautiful than if I was good. Oh to have the heart of God; to forgive, without a second though, to love unconditionally at whatever cost. I wish I could truly say that I am like that but I am not, however I try. I lose faith in people, and I don't want to risk my heart on them again--or my pride.
For any people that I have let down, please forgive me.
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Nov. 5th, 2007

wistful

Things to do:

First off is running. With only 20 days till the Seattle half, I am stepping up my training once more. Yikes!
So the plan is this: Tues - Friday 6 miles, Sat and Monday, walk/ light run. Sunday long run of 8 to ten miles (10 on the 11th, 8 on the 18th. Since I didn't do my long run yesterday I am going six miles tonight as well.

I think once I am done with the half, I will do 3-4 maintenance runs a week of 6 miles. I don't want to loose all of the progress I have made over the past six months. I would really like to take up rock climbing. I think it would be fun. And I really want to learn to play guitar.

In the next week I also have a ton of paintings to paint. That is okay, because I know what they will be. Once I have my inspiration nailed down into images I can be a fairly quick painter. The challenge is to get about six done before next Wednesday.

Oct. 11th, 2007

dark

Camping and Sound

I am ignoring my work right now. It glowers at me, in piles of paper and unchecked boxes; these are the mountains that surround me now…
And yet…
I am thinking of other mountains. I want to fly away from here and live in the trees. I want to spend my time drinking in the dying embers of something started in the spring or listening to a river.
When I was a child, we used to drive up to the mountains in my dad’s old, beat up van. Riding in it now (he still has the same one, though now it has become a veritable Frankenstein) is a perilous thought. The mettles scream as they shift their weight from side to side but I don’t remember hearing that noise on our long journeys (though you did have to close the door just right otherwise you would be forced to place your hand just so on the window to stop the rattling noises…for the whole trip).
I remember the building music. Some things you can’t express quite right in words; this was one of those things. The music was like the journey. Slowly it persuaded you to open your eyes, your heart to the world around you. Then it weaved in little shafts of light, threads of fire. Blue skies and golden fields of wheat tumbled down over each other with every note, till finally a great expanse opened to the mountains. Something in me wanted to cry with the beauty of it.
Camping with my family was great. We never went into the state parks or the “campsites” but instead found the obscure parts of the world, deep in the woods. We would find old familiar campsites using dried up riverbeds as our paths, and a compass as our map. We would set up home beneath the trees, by the rush of the river. During the day I would wander down on the rocks and lay in the icy pools that would swirl away, urgently making their way back down the mountain. I would look up at the sky and the tree tops and feel God smiling at me. In those moments I wasn’t sure if He was more composer or artist.
Some questions don’t have answers.

Sep. 19th, 2007

amused

And how are you, Miss Harmony?

I am doing well, thank you. I just feel good this morning, I think it is something to do with the Seattle skyline out side my window, refracting bits of morning light. What are some other good things? Why thank you for asking, let me tell you:
Megs and I are working on a project! For all of you who are extremely project oriented you should be able to understand the joy that this brings me. Megs and I play well together when we are working on these sort of things because she brings great ideas to the table and lets me have some artistic freedom as well. :)
Speaking of those sort of things, I am finally finishing Meg’s painting and I now know how I will paint the five I have for the Church. It was difficult (please see intimidating) for me because I really wanted to say something with these paintings. They aren’t to be hung in just some coffee shop, they must mean something. All of your paintings mean something, Megs argued when I expressed this to her. Yes well, this is more important. It is not just what we see and feel, but also something glorifying God. That and my commissioner doesn’t like things too abstract. And, let’s face it, it is just easier to paint abstract.
Here is what I want to say:
When you look around you and you see the man on the street, dirty and alone, remember that he is the beloved of God. When you see your coworker, who is a pain in the butt sometimes, or someone who cuts you off on the road, they are beloved by God. When, more appropriately for the youth (the paintings will be in the youth room), you see the jerk at school who hasn’t treated you with any kindness since the second grade, or the nerd who you would sooner scoff at then smile at, remember that they are also beloved by God. And even when you look in the mirror, and you see many imperfections, when you are too fat or too thin, too short or tall, or you see deeper and see enough character flaws to fill a book, still you are beloved by God. We are, all of us, transformed by the love of God; and as Christians it is our privilege to express that love to the beloved of God (including, but not limited to, ourselves).
My running is also going well.
In the writing world, I am really quite excited about our latest writing exercise. At writing group, we were able to use more of that group creativity, and that is just fun.
What else am I doing…..ah yes, the great church hunt.
Well, I still like Antioch but I just wish there was more of a creative outlet for me there. Maybe there is and I just don’t see it. Maybe art (painting, singing, and writing) doesn’t really need to be incorporated into every aspect of my life…but that just seems wrong.

On a side note, I seem to be getting hit on in the oddest ways these past two days. It all started yesterday when the Indian guy who runs the 76 by my house nearly got into a fight with some guy who was hitting on me in a very uncomfortable way, to my coworker who told me this morning that “people who looked like me” don’t go out with people like him (what the hell, thank you very much, I am not that shallow. There are several reasons why I would not go out with him, granted, but his looks are certainly not one of them. I just don’t date unless it is right, okay! Look at my track record! Seriously, I am busy, I don’t really have the time to get in a relationship, I have paintings to paint. So unless it is someone who has potential for, well, real love why would I take my time away from all of the other stuff I have going on? Why would I put my heart at risk if there is no where the relationship could go? I just don’t like being labeled as the shallow girl who doesn’t go out with people because of their looks. Seriously, I am fine, but I am not fine! I am cute, but not a model. If I was really that hung up on myself, I would have issues), to the guy who thought I had a nice voice on the phone and wanted to know if I was married. Do I have a sign on my head? I don’t mind when people hit on me, really I don’t. But yesterday I was actually scared by the guy at 76 and I don’t like being thought of as shallow. Especially as I have always been very nice to this guy. Oh well, someday I will put it in a book, right? :) Besides, it doesn’t matter what he thinks of me, I am only in control of my actions, not other people’s thoughts.

This has gotten long. And a lot like a rant. So I am going to go now. Bye!!!

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