Tag: <span>movies</span>

The Testament of Ann Lee

Purpose is in short supply. Belief not so much. When you match purpose with belief, you often times get magic. And yet, when you confuse the two, you often find tragedy.

Purpose is something that fulfills you. It is a kind of accomplishment in and of itself. Because that fulfillment is often with your hands and with your heart. If you are  for yourself, for the love of it, for what it can bring. Careful woodwork or well prepared sushi. A well understood instrument that is caressed into song.

But, marry that purpose. The kind that stretches fingers and makes motion. Marry it with belief, the kind that is so strident that all else falls away in the face of it. There you will find life changing magic that fells trees and moves people across continents.

Ann Lee had that kind of marriage. At least according to her testimony as told through the lens of 2026 film. Her shaker belief met the purpose of salvation and every single house and family and chair and floorboard she touched showed that purpose and the belief behind it.

But, what I saw... the transcendent nature of quaking in the face of god. I saw in her conviction, the humanity that it requires to believe together. To love together. To dance together.

Sometimes when you do a thing with enough purpose and belief, it opens you up to an awakening. To a rebirth. To something that cannot be reproduced or manufactured. It is only available to those who witness it. It is a spiritual encounter. An ability to notice and name the divine.

I do not want to be a conduit for the almighty. But, I do miss the community that makes the almighty possible. It is only in those meeting rooms that the divine exists. It is only when people are there to give voice to it that it has power. I miss those people, the purpose, and the belief.

An Honest Encounter With Death

An honest encounter with death is not something I am prepared for, most of the time.

When the actress I only knew from The Crown, a former queen in my eyes, said that she was sorry that the rabbit died, that her hawk was to blame, but so are we all. We are to blame for our own deaths. We are to blame for one another's deaths. Responsible for them.

And more important still, we are all going to die. And that knowledge is why we do almost everything we do. The transient nature of who we are, and why we are here is never so very far away. It is why we are so obsessed with being right. With making it harder for others, when we could just shut the fuck up.

But, when you face it. When you see yourself as you are for the majority of your non-existence, as a dead man, you know that it has been an honest encounter. You don't have to pretend that it won't happen, because you already know.

And then it is not about my death, the one that I find the least likely. It is about my father's death, the one that already happened. And my mother's death, the one that is still yet to come. The one that seems far away, but ever nearer. Theirs is the generation that is next, or that is present. And yet, it doesn't always work that way. Death is never so clean cut. It never quite follows the natural order, even for a natural process.

I do not wish for death. Not for myself and not for others, and yet it is such a constant companion that it is hard to do anything other than greet it as it is all around you. It isn't just in the hospital as the death rattle hit for my grandmother. When my father stopped me in the middle of a story to listen to the very last breath. When I heard the wet in and out, the subtle ache that was longing to let go.

When I was in the bed next to my father. Knowing that it was hours and not days. When he asked me, "Am I dying." And I told him, "not now, but soon." He knew I was telling the truth. He knew it was a conclusion, a restating of the thesis of his life. And none of the trailing sentences mattered that much. The time he would spend on the bedside commode. The time I would spend cleaning him up. Trying to care for him even a tiny amount as he had cared for me.

And he had cared for me. From beginning to end. And then death took him. And we were left, watching the TV in the waiting room as more and more people came to say goodbye. As every faculty he had left him, one by one. The thoughts, the words, the breathing.

My father is dead. And I will never have another. And I will do the same to my sons. I will leave them. Perhaps in a hospital bed, and perhaps in the middle of the night. But, odds are that each of them will say something just as I said something for my father. It is absurd. It is nonsense to leave this place. With all of its magic and consciousness.

And I do not envy them the eulogy. But, I do wish I could hear it. The fortunate part is that just like my father, I know that I am loved.

Apocalypse Soon

I have been watching a lot of (post-) apocalypse movies and television shows. I watch them because I find them both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because I know that our world has not actually devolved into killing one another for food or shelter. And terrifying because I see the seeds …

Question 135 of 365: Why don't we say shut up more often?

Cover of 3 Ninjas I have been reliving my childhood through netflix on-demand. It seems as though all of the movies that I loved when I was a kid are available for me to pull up at any hour of the day and watch with my children (with the notable …

Question 19 of 365: Is Social Media trying to turn your life into a movie?

I hope this question is not too flippant or ridiculous as to simply be cast to the side because I think it may be an important one. As I was working my way through this metaphor, I came to the conclusion that social media is constructing the soundtrack, the voice over, …