New Roads 1.75 (Re-Release)

Blackberries 

I'm re-releasing this post with a reading by yours truly. I'm hoping to engage with anyone who hates reading, which up till now hasn't been the case. I don't know why the finalized version of the video decided to chop off my forehead, I'll have to work on that for future releases. Featured music is "All Men" by Simon The Leper from the You Are OK E.P. Find it at http://simontheleper.bandcamp.com.

I'm writing this dystopic fiction story novel thing. It's called Extinguishment. Or Fire Starter. Or neither of those. I started writing it last November for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and have been fiddling with it ever since. 

A detail I've been really trying to grasp is one of the main settings: Olympia, after being deserted and completely unoccupied for at least 200 years. My characters have moved in, they're setting up camp, they're galavanting through the ruins and finding all kinds of cool crap. 

So what do they see? Smell? Stub their toes on? 

I've imagined they'd find an ample supply of coffee, a printing press, some houses still standing, old cars, heaps and heaps of plastic water bottles. Tumwater Falls is the only source of potable water left in North America; communities have been established at The Falls, and in the train tunnel downtown. 

Plant life has been a major factor in how I picture this new Olympia. Since November, I figured the whole place has been completely overtaken by blackberries. With no natural predator and no people to tame the bushes, it seemed logical. 

The ground, except where roads were paved, is completely overgrown with the thorny bushes, greatly restricting already restricted travel. Not to mention the spattering of hybrid blackberry bushes whose genetic makeup fused with nano-bots and evolved highly lethal, shooting thorns. So basically, you travel the paved roads, or don't travel. 

 As I mentioned in Part 1, I had a vision about blackberries. These are those blackberries. 

I sat in the living room in our new apartment with my knee elevated, trying to ignore the boxes and piles of random crap that needed unpacked. With no internet or television to distract me, I opened my notebook and started writing. Almost immediately, I hit a wall in the story that required a more firm understanding of the setting. Something told me the current blackberry situation wasn't going to cut it. 

With a sigh, I said "Dad, what does this Olympia look like?" I started to imagine a tropical climate (I've been learning about climate change). Not only have the pines been replaced with palms, a natural enemy to blackberries has been introduced. The tropical plants, both natural and hybrid nano-bot beasts, grow in such abundance the blackberries are almost completely choked out. 

Almost. They did find a means of survival. 

The asphalt used to pave our roads has rendered the soil beneath toxic. None of the new tropical plants can grow where asphalt was laid. So, where we now have roads, there are rivers of painful and lethal blackberries. 

Suddenly I realized there are no roads in my story. Likely, no one in my story even knows what roads are. They're creating new roads out of necessity, and don't even realize it. 

I started writing again with vigor. It wasn't until a few days later, when I wrote Part 1, that I realized God had given me this vision. Here I was, thinking I tapped into my own vast imagination. If you'll remember with me, though, I asked Dad a question. He's faithful about answering questions. 

Cool. SO. Not only did this imagery give me context for my story, it also gave me context for the shift me and my fellows are experiencing. 

We're stepping into a new climate, and engaging relationally with Dad in ways that we haven't been taught. The roads that got us here won't get us much further. We're going to need to not only take new roads, but take paths that won't exist until we travel them. 

There's a story in acts 10. A friend I call Wee Todd brought this story to my attention while praying with a group of awesome folks at an explosive Memorial Day BBQ (which I'll need to tell you about in the next post.) I'd never heard this story, but Dad flipped my Bible open to it a few days ago (another story I'll need to tell you about). 

The story begins with a guy named Cornelius. He's a centurion, described as "a devout man who feared God with all his house, which gave much alms to the people, and prayed to God always (2)." God sends an angel to this guy, and tells him to take some troops to Joppa and find Peter. 

Peter is hanging out, minding his own business, praying on a rooftop in his prayer closet, when God gives him a vision. Had he taken the vision literally, he'd have immediately gone and found some bugs to smash and eat (12-13). Instead, he argued with God a bit and came to understand the vision wasn't about eating bugs and animals, but about trusting and accepting friendship with Cornelius. Peter and his pals were Jews, you see; the mighty chosen people of God. Cornelius, and all the friends and family he gathered to hear Peter, were unclean, uncircumcised (gasp!) Gentiles. The two groups didn't mix well, until this story. 

Peter starts telling the gathered Gentiles about his time with Jesus. "God annointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Ghost and with power: who went about doing good and healing all that were oppressed of the devil; for God was with with him (38)," Peter explained. "... He commanded us to preach to people and testify that Jesus was ordained of God to be the judge of quick and dead (42)... 

As Peter spoke, the Holy Spirit dropped on everyone listening. Peter's friends tripped out because uncircumcised outcasts were speaking in tongues and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost (46). Not only that,  but now Peter wants to baptize them all (48).  

Back in Judea, the apostles heard that Peter was off baptizing hooligans (11:1-3). They weren't happy. 

Woah, Peter. Slow down. We've paved some religious roads and, as far as we know, people have got to travel them before they can be baptized. You can't just bypass the roads we've established and start doing your own thing. 

Peter, calmly I'm sure, recounted both his story and Cornelius's: Listen, guys. I didn't plan this. I know we've never done this before, but God just went ahead and gave these guys the Holy Spirit. I didn't tell them anything about speaking in tongues, and all of a sudden there they are, speaking in tongues, glorifying God. How could I not baptize them? (4-15)

Remember, Peter continued, when Jesus said "John indeed baptized with water; but you shall be baptized with the Holy Ghost (16)." Just as we believed on Jesus Christ and received the gifts of the Holy Ghost, so did these gentiles. 

After listening to Peter, the apostles got it. Gentiles can repent and have relationship with God too. Sweet deal. Let's start a revolution. 

That's where we're at. We're Peter and Cornelius, seeking God, abandoning the pre-paved roads we've been told will take us to Him. Maybe not of our own accord; perhaps we've been abandoned or wounded by our churches/families/friends and feel forced away from the thorns on these pre-paved paths.

Maybe we're just sensitive to thorns and prefer the sweat it takes to forge our own path in unknown territory. 

Maybe we don't yet want to be like Cornelius and Peter. We'd rather take the easy, paved roads as long as possible. 

I don't think its going to be possible much longer.  But that's my interpretation of my vision. Do these images have any meaning for you? Do blackberries or roads hold symbolic significance in your life? If you have any alternative, contradictory, or even complimentary interpretations, feel free to share. Seriously, you're free! Share freely!