It is not very often that I see a commercial that really makes me think, or even see a commercial at all.  The majority of the commercials on network television have to do with a very few topics, so far as I can tell.  A quick breakdown would be: advertisements for foreign cars, cartoon bears with bits of toilet paper stuck to their cartoon asses, medication commercials featuring very miserable looking people until you see a pill in the palm of their hand...from then on out its all dogs and walks on the beach (until you get to the "Has you or a loved one been injured by taking Fukitol?  If you think you have, call us today at the law offices of Shyster and Shyster at 1-800-GET-PAID), shampoo commercials, and commercials to ensure that you can be ready when she is.  VERY rarely do I see a commercial that is in some way, shape, or form inspiring.  I almost hate it when I do, because I always feel like a little bit of a corporate tool.  Though, in my defense, in this case I am being moved by poetry that was intented to be moving when it was written well over a century ago.

The commercial in question is a commercial for Levi's jeans.  It features the first couple stanzas of Walt Whitman's "Pioneers! O Pioneers!", published in 1855.  The commercial shows young people doing all sorts of adventurous things, as well as the standard "I am in a commercial for jeans, so I suppose I should show you my ass" bit.  It is narrated by William Geer aka Grandpa Walton, and quite well put together.  They leave a little bit out from the exerpt, but it still essentially says the same thing:

I like it.  I think it says alot about the world within which it was written, and it contrasts strongly with our own.  When Whitman wrote this poem, the US was in the midst of western expansion.  Pushing its way across the prairies and forests of what is now this great nation.  Such bravery was shown in the face of the dangers, such courage and strength used to overcome all obstacles.  Things that seem impossible now were commonplace then.  What was a common thing, something like walking a mile to the neighbors, would now be torture beyong bearing for so many people.  Where has our spirit gone...our drive to explore?  

Step outside...do something outside your self, stand up with your face to the sun and seize the world... you can do this.  Walk with your head held high and your eyes gleaming.  Become a pioneer in your own life, tramping where no other has tramped before.  Do not seek the path that is well traveled, seek the unbroken forests and carve your own path.  In the end you will be scraped, dirty, and bleeding, but you will have lived your own authentic life.  You owe your life to no person, man or woman.  

I applaud those who have decided to follow their own personal legend, who have decided to take a step into the world.  Congrats to Kitty, who took a big step out into the world at large.  Sometimes, its going to be hard, but you can do it.  Rely only on yourself, but help others where you can.  We all miss you here.  

 

  

Its the end of the year...just an hour away.  Of course nothing actually changes at that exact moment in time...it is essentially an arbitrary point at which we decide that one thing ends and another begins, but the power of such a point cannot be overstressed.  Tomorrow the world wakes up to the bright new world of 2010 (which is twenty-ten, not two-thousand-and-ten).  The old world would have passed away, and the new timeline stretches proudly before us.  Every single day brings new opportunities, but the first day of the new year seems to bring even more.  The problems of the year before become dimmer, and for a moment we all seem to realize something we forget for the rest of the year...the past does not control us.  We live in the present, and we control the future by each and every choice we make right now.  

This evening I went to Mass at St. Rose of Lima in Paso.  My mother has been attending lately, and they had a special New Years thing.  It is always an interesting experience going to another church.  To be surrounded by all of the voices, all speaking in time, like a great heart beating in tune.  The sea of sound washing up and around me, it is easy to see how people get wrapped in it.  Participating would certainly give one a strong sense of belonging and membership to something greater.  

Those of you reading this who know me well, know I was raised in the Seventh Day Adventist Church.  The SDA church tends to give children growing within its ranks a very odd outlook at the rest of the world.  When you are positive that you are the 'remnant church' and that everyone is going to attempt to kill you (or turn you into the totalitarian world masonic government...yeah), for reasons as simple as going to church on the wrong day, or having vitamin C in your cupboard, you tend to look at things differently as a child.  The SDA church uses the Catholic church and the Pope especially as a kind of boogieman.  I clearly remember a sermon given by a man whom I know to be an otherwise intelligent individual proving that the Pope was the Antichrist based on the fact that the inscription on the side of the Triregnum (the Pope's Hat), Vicarius Filii Dei, or Vicar of the Son of God, can be numeralized based on the position of the letters in the latin alphabet...and then those positions added up while dancing and pulling other number out of nowhere, to equal 666.  This is almost as good as Kirk Cameron's "God Exists Because Bananas Fit In Our Hands" argument.  It was odd to be raised around that kind of nutty, and to feel the cognitive dissonance that came along with it.  My family never supported any of that, but it was certainly in the church in heavy doses.  

There was also the "The Freemasons (an order of which I am a member) control everything, and are tools of the Papacy!"  Which is startlingly ironic, considering the history behind the Freemasons and the Church.  The "ZOMG HARRY POTTER IS TURNING OUR CHILDREN TO THE DEBIL!!!" line too.  I never met anyone who was able to articulate these things very well.  It always kinda came off as 'Religion by Glenn Beck' or something.  Heavy on the scare tactics, light on the thinking.  

It was fun though, to see a more normal mass, as opposed to the Christmas Masses I have witnessed while christmas-sweater-clad at the church in Lompoc with my grandmother.  The thing that has always impressed me about Catholocism is the weight of its age.  As with many things, the early traditions of Christianity were borrowed from the other faiths its adherents had belonged to, and things got really interesting when Emperor Constantine converted, lending Imperial backing to the Christian faith.  It was at the first Council of Nicea (325AD) that everything was normalized and everyone picked a uniform set of doctrines and books...but from that point forward all of Christianity has been based on Catholicism.  Almost everything you see in a protestant or other branch of Christianity has its roots in Catholicism.  Most other christian services have the same feeling to me of a child wearing his father suit and hat, walking around with the coattails dragging on the ground and the shoes six inches too big for their feet.  They play at church and come up with these arguments for why their particular brand of snake oil is superior, they base things on faith but try to explain everything to you logically (which is ALWAYS belly-laugh hilarious).  The Catholic Church just IS.  It makes not apologies, it makes no excuses, it just points to the two millennial of history and experience and says nothing.  You believe, or you don't.  If you don't, feel free to sit and listen, and they won't bother you.

When I was in Turkey, we traveled all over the countryside, and one of the things I always loved to do was go to the churches and mosques.  There is something comforting about the quiet contemplation of the holy places, those cultural and religious places of power.  The thing that struck me, and that I noticed again last night, was the care with which the artwork is created.  In the foyer of the church there was a carving of St Rose of Lima, the patron saint of the church.  Looking at the icon, it reminded of of the time I spent in the Cathedral of Lima, the sister-church to the St Rose in Paso.  The statue was carved from wood, and carved by the hand of someone who truly cared.  Perhaps even someone who was not a skilled carpenter, but a villager who desired to show their love and devotion by turning a forest stump into a work of art, pouring everything they had into it.  It is like the simple icons and statuary in the church in my great-grandmothers village in Nadap, Hungary (the picture above).  Simple, no great works of artistry, but perfect in their simplicity.  Such a far-cry from the Scented Saint of earlier posts.  So far removed from the laser etched windows and immaculate suits of other denomination.  If I were to be a Christian, I would probably be Catholic.

 

One of the things that Catholicism has managed to do is to hold a strong connection to the past, but push farther towards the future.  The Church, after centuries of literalistic interpretations regarding the concept of creation, have switched their view to support the concept of evolution which puts them far and away ahead of pretty much any of the standard Christian faiths.  They have done something that few organizations of any size have been able to do, and that is to change.  Opportunities abound for other faiths to take a rational approach to science, but most are slow to do anything about it.  

This is a lesson we can all look to in our lives, especially in the New Year.  We all have the opportunity for change, and we can change.  We do not need to be held down by our past, or our circumstances, or the things around us.  We can take full responsibility for our existence, and we can change whatever we would like.  The only chains shackling our wrists are the chains we forge for ourselves, and they can be un-forged only by our own action.  The key is action, clean decisive action in all we do.  No more resolutions, only change!

Today was not the best day in history, but as with any crummy day, I figure there are two possible options... bitch about it, or talk about something else and move on.  So, heres to moving on!

This morning I finished the layout of the next issue of the Southern California Fire Journal and it came out beautifully.  It is always fun to work with Jeff Zimmerman, whether it is in finalizing the layout of the journal or on the fire line taking pictures.  Its been a while since I have been chasing rats in the pit, chasing lightning through the desert, or chasing fire through the forest.  I think the most fun thus far has been chasing thunderbusts through the desert out by Barstow.  Tearing along back roads, setting up camera gear as the squalls come overhead dumping rain and the lightning crashes down all around the camera trucks.  We got some great shots that night, I had no lightning sensor so I just shot video.  Good times...lots of driving, lots of rain, lots of wind.  

Being out in the desert during lightning season is an interesting thing.  One moment its clear and the sun is shining, with the tiniest wisps of clouds on the horizon.  You can sit there in the path of the storm, and it looks like there is nothing there.  Suddenly, over the course of a few minutes the thunderhead forms, rising up into the sky like a giant fist.  As it comes closer and closer, that fist rises higher in the air as if to threaten the gods themselves.  Suddenly, it is upon you, lashing out at the countryside around you, thrashing the desert with its rain and hail...tearing at your clothing and equipment, blasting the desert with bolt after bolt of fire from the heavens.  The really fun lightning bolts are the ones that start at a single point on the belly of the storm and ripple outwards in all directions, in a network of energy spanning miles.  This is something that is impossible to see unless you are directly beneath the storm...unless you are close, stupidly close.  

In retrospect, standing out in a lightning storm with a bunch of metal tripods next to a truck covered with antennas is probably not the SMARTEST thing in the world to do...but it is an experience I will never forget.  

My mother has a wall of pictures of family members from generations past.  In order to earn a spot on this wall you must be in a black and white picture, and it must be a well composed photograph.  This limits things for the most part to old military photos of the men in the family from previous generations.  On this wall is all of the family in their various military uniforms going back to the stately picture of my Great-Great-Grandfather on my mothers side, in his Prussian Officer's uniform, with his crushed kepi hat on the small table next to him, his sabre hung at his side.  That man knew how to wear a mustache.  That is probably the OLDEST picture on that wall, but its not the one that got me thinking today.  That one was a picture of my direct name-line Great-Great-Grandfather on my fathers side, whose surname I bear.  He was on the board of supervisors for Stanislaus County somewhere not too terribly long after the turn of the last century...so nearly 100 years ago.  One of his duties as a county supervisor was to attend training seminars at different locations around the state.  One of these events took place at Mirror Lake in Yosemite.  

It was at this event that he and another supervisor (I assume) had a picture taken.  They are standing on a gravel bar near the shore of the lake.  My Great-Great-Grandfather stands with an easy confidence, his hat hanging at his side, and a cigar in his other hand.  The lake is, as they say, like a mirror.  If you hold the picture upside down, the only way you can tell it is the reflection of the men you are focusing on and not the men themselves is the slight distortion in the trees.  He is wearing a business suit, but he looks comfortable in it.  This man, long since dead and buried in Modesto, is part of my blood.  

 

 

It is odd to look back over my family history and see how everything relates.  To look at these people I never knew, and see clear resemblances to my family living today.  One of the men, David Balzer, who was born in 1842 in Russia is a dead ringer for my brother.  I can look at members of my family as far back as I have pictures, and see very clear features and patterns emerging.  I can see stories of men, pioneers who struck out across the unexplored world, and made their own places.  Trails blazed across the continent and sometimes even the world.  From Lambert Huybertse Brink, the first bearing this name to set foot in the Americas in 1647, all the way up to my immediate family and their adventures, there is a steady stream of remarkable and interesting things coming down through the ages in the history books.  One of my female relatives had her tongue cut out in 1597 and was locked in the 'Witch's Tower', where she eventually hung herself...this was in Bunigen, Germany.  She was accused of 'being intimate with the devil' because she had lost an eye...her name was Margaret.  History like this is fascinating, but sad.  I would love to hear her side of the story...what else was there?

So much history, so many lives, so much time.  It kinda makes anything we might go through seem kinda...low volume. 

So, I am sitting in my office on a Monday, while my system runs a restore.  Had a little computer hiccup this morning that's causing a bit of a problem.  So, as it does that, I thought I would spend a bit of time writing.

Today I began a new schedule.  I think it balances everything I need to get done for the time being quite nicely.  I woke up at 0430 feeling well rested and alert, and pretty much hammered through the entire day.  It is a wonderful feeling when you are able to do that.  Obstacles popped up, but each time they were quickly knocked down, and I have cruised near the end of the day feeling great.  I am tired, but not too tired.  When I fall asleep tonight, I will be ready, but not exhausted.  Its a good mix.

I was talking to a good friend of mine this morning while everything warmed up and a batch of pictures processed, and we were discussing the lives of people we know, and our own lives in general.  Over the course of his life, he has done all sorts of things, been on all sorts of adventures, and bears the scars of these escapades.  Many of the people I know who are farther along in their lives have lived lives full of adventure.  When I hear the stories of the things they have done, it always amazes me...because these are not things that people of my age group do any longer.  Both of my grandfather have stories of their youth, stories of adventures and mishaps.  The youth of today seem to have lost touch with this wandering spirit, this thirst for experience.  How many people I know are content to sit in their safe homes and never step foot outside?  So many friends travel and never leave the safe beaten path of the tourist.  So many more are afraid to do even that, and sit at home in their houses, peeking fearfully through the shades.  Where has this thirst for life gone?  Who robbed my generation of its ambition?

When I gaze back through the dim corridors of time, along the meandering bloodlines of ages past, I cannot help but feel wonder.  The almost suffocating feeling you get when you stand in the very presence of greatness.  I look at the picture of Thor Heyerdahl, who sailed the Kon Tiki from Peru to Indonesia...across 4100 miles of trackless ocean in a balsa raft...just because he wanted to prove it could be done.  Alexander the Great, conquering city after city, just to see what is over the next hill.  Leif Ericson, who sailed across the Atlantic to land in Greenland.  Joseph Campbell, striving for understanding and excellence in his adventures.  T.E. Lawrence, dressed as a Bedouin and riding across the singing sands.  I see these people, and I, who have had much more adventure in my life than most my age, am yet a child.  

I am not there yet, but I will step out and walk where few have walked.  I will feel the burning ice of the glaciers stinging my face as I trudge up slopes where only a handful have gone before.  I will feel the joy as I stretch my mind to take in new languages, feeling the sounds that were once so foreign to my ears become words with meaning.  I will feel the exhilaration as the strange sights of the world fill my mind (and hopefully my lens too!).  Twenty-five years I have lived now, and I will live many more.  Its all uphill from here!

I think it was Joseph Campbell who said..."Hold your ground! Open the gates, dear friends, and let's seize the day! Or close our minds up with inventions, death and fear! There's nothing so destroys a man as ignorance and conformity! Grasp the mantle!"

Come on everyone...get out there and do something you have never done before.  Start small if you have to, but DO it.  Don't let the mundanity of life around you pull you down.  You are the master of your own ship...grab the rudder and PULL!

Carpe Diem!