Embracing time...

OK, Just so you know, this is long. As I think about everything on my mind, I don't even know where this is going... I know, I know, we've been down this "I don't know where this is going" road thing before.

I've just grabbed another cup of coffee. I'm typing while looking out the window. Trying to collect my thoughts. Here goes.

I've been exposed to all this media now that I've spent some time back in the midst of civilization. I hear themes repeated everywhere I go that the world is speeding up. People just don't have enough time in their day.

Sometimes I feel as if it, time, threatens to swallow you whole. And the universe will allow this if you let it.

Lately my life has also sped up-maybe this sense originates from spending so much time in an urban area. Maybe my awareness comes from watching all these people who are close to me face transition into the next place, wherever that might be-maybe through their last breath, or their last gentle kiss goodbye at the end of unrealized passion, or their last lingering look before they pass through airport security and catch their flight to anywhere but here.

I've done a bit of standing around, absorbing this rush forward and felt the acceleration of heartbeat and footfall and time. I've also been lingering, suspended between my own version of the present while comparing the infatuation of yesterday with the great big question of tomorrow.

Under the gaze of such a moment, time can't help but have motion. In some instances, I fight the urge to go with the flow. Or I give into the urge and run as fast I can toward this acceleration and try to leap into a state of oneness with it. I always miss. Sprawled out on the ground, I stand, dust myself off and wait for the next scheduled arrival. If I can only catch up to time, maybe I can become one with it.

I know, you think this is all crazy talk. You're thinking I am going all Aquarian on you again. Don't you dare scroll down. Breathe. Hear me out.

I haven't been doing as much babysitting lately, or spent as much energy trying to keep up with the whirlwind of activity that defines a three year old. But I have found myself in the sometimes awkward and hesitant mode of trying to offer comfort to my fellow adults. Often in the midst of situations that defy explanation and reason. Dangling precariously in the squeeze play of crisis, I've found myself trying to understand situations that seem completely devoid of human compassion.

My friend Kevin, a man who has really been there for me over the last few months, has suddenly found himself confronting the very same emotions I've been dealing with. I've struggled for the words that will ease his heartbreak, give him hope and offer an optimistic light upon which to focus. Sometimes words haven't come at all. Sometimes words are like that, escaping into the universe uncaught and the only thing to bridge the pain is silence and shared human presence. Or put into words, sharing TIME with him in the midst of his pain.

I don't have too many hero's but Kevin is one of them.

During my grandmother's last days, Kevin was really there for me, rallying other health care professionals, helping my family navigate the legalities of wrongful death and assessing the lack of professionalism that compromised Billie's health to the point of no return. Kevin rallied the Washington State Department of Health and Human Services involving investigators in the case immediately. As a result, Citations fell down like hail, even as the investigations continued.

Aside from his professionalism, he was also a very present interceder as a friend. Rapidly becoming one of those people you can say anything to, no matter how unreasonable, he watched my back. During one late night/early morning melt down after I'd witnessed Billie's most gruesome fight for breath and comfort, Kevin was there on the other end of the receiver, listening to my confusion as I begged God to just let Billie's suffering end and yet feeling guilty for thinking such things. He was there over and over and over again.

For the last several days, I've been present with Kevin through late night conversations, standing on full moon illuminated piers or shouting at one another over really tired showtunes in drag queened-up! nightclubs. We've somehow traded places. As I've found myself easing into a comfortable place, Kevin's life has gone into warp speed. There aren't many answers in the midst of such a launch, but that doesn't mean that the questions still aren't worth asking.

I think one of the things all the people in my life have been asking lately has a lot to do with faith. Where we place it. Do we have any business having faith in fellow humans, and when do you know if your faith has been well placed? When do you have certainty about interaction and the splendid knowledge that your investment was worth making? When do you know your pursuits have been worth your time.

In light of these questions, I once again find myself thinking about time, timing, and the rate at which we stumble into awareness of what gives life value. Time is the most precious gift we have, yet time is often the first and most easily discarded blessing as we rush headlong, chasing experience, riches, and enlightenment.

That's where my friend Eddy enters into the picture. He darts in and out of my life with regularity. He has this saying that drives me crazy. "There are no victims, only volunteers." Edward uses these words to describe the wreckage that sometimes results from human interaction and our inability to accept timing. If anything, serenity is as much linked to timing as it is toward taking steps and action. This is the most subtle negotiation. We do not exist in a vacuum and as much as I argue with Eddy, I can agree that he's also correct.

The Aquarian in me hates solid rules, rigidity, and definition. Yet because the conversation with Eddy is always so challenging, I find myself perplexed and feel spent for days after our discussions. Ironically, one of the most wonderful blessings of spending time with Eddy, is that our time is rarely structured.

Saturday fell open to this possibility when Eddy called me up and said he was hungry. He said he'd be by to pick me up. He announced we were doing brunch. I've written about Eddy in the past, but just to refresh, he's the handsome construction worker who is always wanting to get into theological debates with me. His eyes sparkle with this devilish delight and yet in all that amusement stands a steady serenity. We never really settle anything in our debates but the interaction itself is enough to sustain you through a week or two of introspection. If you let it.

Eddy is part angel, part devil and he can play both roles simultaneously. Eddy and I never make solid plans on where our journey is going to take us. He usually arrives, we join up, and then set off, destination unknown, abandoning any set schedule. When he's at the ranch, he often arrives bringing a chain saw or a DVD movie or his best friend to help chart the course. When I'm over here, he drives and I ride.

Yesterday we set off for Tacoma.

We were going to see the movie "Millions", a movie about faith.

But first we enjoyed brunch at the Flying J Truckstop, where our waitress became quite fascinated with my inability to read the menu, or choose what I was in the mood to eat. Yet when I finally came up with a menu choice, she objected going all passive aggressive on me, making sure I realized the truest significance of the portions involved. Other customers got involved in this brinkmanship, including the muscular young logger sitting next to us. The logger kept smiling and shaking his head, realizing that I was in over my head. The waitress toyed with me, I under her spell, flustered, until I threw up my hands in exasperation. Finally, she ordered for me, her domination complete.

When you partake of the Flying J special promotion-this month it's a few eggs, over Meatloaf, piled on top of hashbrowns with enough brown gravy to lubricate a Peterbilt, if you're sitting in her station, you only do so upon her approval and determination that this is the appropriate selection. Eddy sat across from me, delighted with the fact a stranger was able to instantly leave me speechless and dazed. He left her a huge tip.

Leaving the Flying J, we turned toward downtown Tacoma. Tacoma is like this unspoiled slice of nostalgia, comfortable and familiar. The architecture is chaotic yet new influences compliment the historic ones as if they've existed side by side for centuries. The pace is slower in Tacoma and the city has a distinct artsy, blue collar, down home sense to it. Forget about the Johnny Come Lately transience of the Seattle Dot Amazon Dot Com hype or the snobbery of the more conservative Microsoft, soft on social conscience, heavy on the bottom line focus. Tacoma is about flawed and real and alive. The city seems proud to admit that the scars visitors see are real and that history is seldom perfect.

Eddy and I drove around Tacoma searching for the Grand Cinema theater, one of the few cinemas in the Puget Sound area featuring the movie Millions, an independent, underdog picture. Millions is similar to the movie Billie Elliot. An upstart flick, Millions has caught both critics and audiences by surprise, playing to sold out, packed houses. A throw back to a different time, people stand and applaud at the end of this movie. Although billed as a family show, theater managers report they are seeing far more seats filled with starry eyed adults than children. The promo flyer we read, once we finally found the theater, described the show in the following glowing terms:

"...Millions is director Danny Boyle's (Trainspotting) heartwarming story of two little boys, faith, miracles...and lots of money. Starting anew after the death of their mother, 9-year-old Anthony is ever practical while his 7-year-old brother Damian uses imagination, fantasy and faith to make sense of a confusing world. When a suitcase full of money falls out of the sky at Damian's feet, it sets the boys on the adventure of a lifetime that leads them to realize that true wealth has nothing to do with money."

Yeah I know. You're thinking, "Whatever Tim. This sounds like cinematic manipulation, Mary Poppins in the new millennium and Disney on Steroids. "

Hear me out. It's not like that. The film continues to enjoy extended runs because it's THAT good. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Eddy and I bought our tickets and because the show wouldn't be starting for an hour, we walked next door and began exploring the Two Vaults Gallery. Located in the Merlino Arts Center, the same building as the Grand Theater, if Tacoma has a soul, this old brick building impressed me as the type of place where you'd find it.

As we entered the Two Vaults Gallery, owner Renee Healy greeted us. An animated woman with a beaming smile and this warmth that unexpectedly envelopes and surrounds you, her hospitality was immediate and genuine. I was spellbound by the work offered in her collection of diverse artists. Adorning the walls, art electrified the space. Binding blinding color and relief, this was a space that conveyed both inspiration and boundless energy.

The gallery contains the gallery floor in addition to two old vaults. One vault has a framing shop and studio while additional art flooring and display space is located in the other vault. The floors are textured, the walls roughshod and imperfect. It is the most appropriate location to display so much life captured in various mediums. Renee's vision only further compliments this imperfect yet perfect location. The art is impeccably displayed, reflecting out the very original character of the city that cradles it.

Art reflects and captures life-its hue and tone, its before and after, it's timing. In various pursuits of color, in the tactile, in the cast formation and gentle or rough relief of three dimensional creations, here was a mirror looking back. The gallery space also displayed offerings of timeless photographic memory. Everywhere we looked celebrations of life, in all its immediacy fell down among us. Gazing up and around us there was so much to see and absorb that it was almost overwhelming. As I struggled to understand all I saw, I realized that far worse things can happen in life than being overwhelmed by artistic expression, sensory overload and fantastic brilliance.

Renee interrupted, asking what brought us into the gallery and following our answer, what show we were seeing. Edward and I confessed a bit of embarrassment about seeing a "family" flick. She smiled, and told us we'd talk after the movie. She wanted to know what we thought of Millions. Instructing us that before the show we should walk up the street and enjoy a latte at the Blue Nile Espresso stand, she whispered that it was the proprietors first day in business and that he'd be excited to see us. Holding up a fruit smoothie, she'd just brought down from the Blue Nile she added a bonus plug, "It's really, really good."

So we promised to return. Leaving the gallery, we paused as an infusion of humanity delayed our progress. Entering the gallery a young man nodded, he covered in skin art with the strangest red beard I'd ever seen and wearing various tattered layers of black clothing. Several people exited the just concluded showing of Millions next door. As we stood aside from sudden unexpected congestion of pedestrians, I noticed that some of the theater patrons were in tears, bashfully smiling and wiping their eyes. I looked back at the young, wild looking man who just entered the gallery. He was talking to Renee, pointing back at the street, as she followed the direction of his motions. Something told me there was a story there and I reminded myself to ask her about him after the show.

After grabbing some coffee from the Blue Nile, we made our way back to the Grand Theater and sat down in these rich, nearly ancient theater chairs awaiting whatever came next. I won't go into details of the movie, other than to say this is one of the most moving pictures I've seen. Humanity rallies, plunges, and flails across the screen, as seen through the eyes of two boys who have already witnessed a bit more of the frailty of the human condition than is reasonable. But if there is one thing about life that always seems to hold true, it's that life is seldom reasonable and this simple truth elevates the movie more than any other theme. The soaring finality of Millions left me teary eyed. I emerged into the brightness just as bashful and vulnerable as the earlier theater patrons I'd witnessed before.

Returning to the gallery Renee was in the midst of her own trust building exercise with humanity. It seems the tattooed guy I'd noticed previously was a talented young musician who played in a band at the coffee house next door. In some moment of sharing, the gallery owner learned the young rocker had a flair for fixing Volvo's and although she'd just met him that day, he was now headlong into a mission to revive her Volvo. Scrawling part numbers and rotor numbers on his arms, his tattooed torso, he scribbled additional numbers on his hand as we watched in fascination. Recognizing our return, Renee shrugged as the rocker brushed past Edward and I on his way to retrieve additional supplies from the auto parts store.

Explaining her Volvo predicament, she could see this scene was a bit on the strange side. To be trusting the health of her car to a complete stranger, especially considering her location perched on the edge of some of the rougher Tacoma neighborhoods was peculiar. Renee offered that in spite of the risks, she preferred to do business this way. Relying on the human currency of trust and first chances, good will was there for the taking. Provided you had the courage to reach for it.

We looked at additional art as Renee continued to share insight into various artists, their history and the nature of their creative process. I felt like I'd just gone back for thirds at an all you can eat buffet and as I left her gallery, I let my eyes relax. Several pieces held my thoughts as Eddy and I set off to further explore Tacoma and the treasures to be found.

In the course of our journey, we found a gay bar, several antique stores, and hidden alleys full of interesting shops and intriguing eateries. We found stores that sold Native American Art, and stores that sold witchcraft supplies and magic crystal balls. We strolled through antique malls and were warned by street people that this was a dangerous day to be on the streets and to keep our eyes open. We walked past renovation and dilapidation and the cycles of life in an up and coming, down and out inner city sped past us as if we were stationary. We stopped in at one store that had numerous items pertaining to wolves and spirituality and met a woman who was into mimes and witchcraft.

Later Eddy asked me if I believed in witches and magic. I offered that I did. I offered that I believed in most things, but that I didn't necessarily rely on those influences in my life. He was silent for a long time after that, and the sky darkened and the clouds let loose and I wondered if somehow we'd just broken a spell. As Eddy drove me back to my parents house, I was quiet.

The day we'd just shared seemed like magic and the movies dance with faith remained with me. I thought about time and resources and how we spend both. I considered the people I love and how fluid those interactions seem to be. Nothing is for certain except that everything is uncertain. In thinking about the last twenty four hours, I can't help but return full circle to the magical gift of time. Unscheduled moments, the freedom of acceleration and deceleration, and the gift of human interaction remain the root of all the good stuff that humanity seeks, but that we never get enough of. Everything else seems more like distraction than satiation.

I know, its not exactly the most original thought. Maybe your thinking this is starting to sound really earthy and granola and that maybe I am under the influence of a vegan breakfast or too much coffee. Maybe your rolling your eyes. Maybe your thinking Tim, you're not being realistic. Physical and comfort needs are just as real.

I hear all that too. But I am becoming increasingly convinced that even more important than these needs are these moments of increasingly all too rare connectedness and interaction. Maybe as time speeds up, we just have to commit to exiting out of the rapid commute flow and suspend ourselves in the luxury of the moment. Maybe sometimes the destination, the point of origin, and the details and the trappings of our mode of transport are irrelevant. Maybe, like the credit card commercial says, as they sell us the benefit of credit, the actual accumulations and expenditures are far less important than the moment of connectedness we find in the most unusual places and unplanned instances. The "priceless" stuff we all recognize but often have difficulty obtaining.

Seems easy enough in theory. Now if only I had a little more time to devote to putting it into practice.


The details...

Blu Wolf Gift Store~ A journey for the soul offers a large selection of unique gifts for all...they can be found at 765 Broadway Avenue, Tacoma, Washington 98404 ~253-272-2228

Two Vaults Studio Gallery~ In the Merlino Arts Center can be found at 602 South Fawcett, Tacoma, Washington, 98402. http://www.twovaults.com

Millions the movie, trailer and other details can be found here:http://www2.foxsearchlight.com/millions/