the pursuit of happy(i?)ness.

“There is no 'y' in happiness. It's supposed to be an 'I'.”

That's what Will Smith's character, Chris Gardner tells the Asian janitor, advising him in his repainting job of a day care center's front artwork.

“How did President Jefferson know to put the 'pursuit' of happiness in there?” Gardner muses while looking for change in his pockets.

These things struck me. There is no why in happiness, just I. I'm entitled to happiness, and it doesn't matter why. Should I have to ask why? Is happiness earned? Things I hadn't really thought of before.

The movie chronicles Chris Gardner, a real person about whom this account is created. The man scrapes the bottom of hell seeking a better future for himself and his son, betting nothing to gain anything. The movie was incredibly touching, that or I'm getting soft in my lengthy 23 years of life. Several scenes brought me to the blurred edge of tears, and it seems that Will Smith has found his acting chops, displaying maturity and a keen lack of “ruining it with canned one liners.” That is to say that, in this movie, the black man does not say, “that is whack.”

Something about the movie's underlying philosophy of “happiness, y?” has sort of splintered its way into my conscious. Couple that with the fact that Tom still resides, daily, in my thoughts, and I question “I”. What guarantee do I have that I will be happy? What right do I have to be happy? I don't. I have the right to pursue it, but mostly, as exemplified by Chris's son, contrasted by Chris's wife, happiness is an internal state. It's something that you live and exude, not something you seek or have. The son tells the father, after experiencing (and in the center of) these ordeals, “you're a good poppa.” Just before the trials start, the son, when asked, responds with, “yes, I'm happy.” Even during the trials, faced with his father's growing depression over the dark turn of his life, he exhibits many moments of childhood happiness. Chris's wife, meanwhile, seems only able to focus on her personal discomfort, and her own inability to happy, ignoring and belittling her husband's effort for a better life.

In what might be my favorite scene of the movie, Chris is playing basketball with his son. His son says he's good enough for the pro's. Chris picks up the ball, throws it at the basket and misses and remarks that, “you'll excel at many things in life, just like me, but, unfortunately, you'll probably get my basketball ability, and I never did too well. So, I don't want you out here every day and every night playing this trying to get your hopes up.” The son is obviously dejected and outright pissed. While putting his ball away, Chris says to his son, “don't ever let someone, even me, tell you that you can't do something. If you have a dream, protect it, pursue it, with everything you've got.” In reflecting in my own time on this planet, I experienced several conversations with my own father. Not once did I ever see my dad nay say a personal dream of mine. Not once. He was always telling me that whatever it is I wanted to do, I could do it, even going so far as to once say, “fuck 'em” to people who might try to step on or prevent me from my goals.

Which leads me back to the “I.” He's right. My dad is right. Chris Gardner is right. If you have a dream, you are capable of achieving it, which means that it's not the Y that gets in the way. It's the I.

The I leads me to Tom. Tom is an educated man, as he and I have said. He was a male nurse, living with a woman for fifteen years, a woman he regarded to be his wife. They had a home, he was doing well, and then things went to hell for him. A fire, an arrest, other details he didn't divulge. The tears Tom cried that night downtown are the same tears that Chris cries in the subway bathroom.

Tom has not left my thoughts yet. There was something in our connection, something I need to revisit. Focus on the Y.

Blankets in Denver

I went downtown with a couple of friends tonight to give blankets to the homeless. I've been downtown a few other times to give out food mostly. Hot dogs, sandwiches, hot cocoa. Every experience is unique, and I find that every time I go, a little more personal the experience becomes, if that makes sense. If not, hopefully it will.

Unfortunately, I've only been 3 times. You never forget the faces.

The first time, I talked with an elderly man who had a walker. He was overweight, had an impressive beard, glasses, needed dental work. I can't remember his name, but he loved star trek and devoured star trek novels. He was a patriot, ex-military, self proclaimed theologian and bible scholar. I enjoyed talking with him, and did so for probably thirty minutes. He also enjoyed hand rolled tobacco cigarettes. Unfortunately, I can't remember his name. Robert is the connection I've built with his face, so that is what I'll call him. I pray for Robert.

You find that most of the time, the men down there are not so far removed from yourself. In fact, they are mostly you, just with unfortunate circumstances, whether those circumstances be willed or forced.

Next, I had to convince my friend Mike to go. I told him it was both a blessing and an honor. An unforgettable experience. He acquiesced. We went down there, and ended up talking with 2 guys. A tall black man, who looked relatively nice for his time on the streets. “A street preacher” he called himself. He was very charismatic and excited. His theology was a little goofy, but damn if he didn't love GOD. I believe his name was Felix. He had been spending his time with a little old Thai man named Tom, I believe. His english was very hard to understand, and I didn't spend anywhere near as much time with him as I did Felix. He was very amiable, and encouraged all of us around him to make sure we get good educations so we didn't have to be where they were. Tom hugged us on our way out. I pray for Felix and Tom.

You find that these guys... these guys just want to talk to you. They just want to be heard. The best thing to do is just listen to them and talk with them. There is an infectious spirit here. Something that's hard to miss and not get caught up in. Whatever bizarre delusions you get about these men vanishes when you see them at their most vulnerable.

Tonight, 2 of our 3 membered party talked with a group of three men. Tom broke my heart. Seeing a man cry does something unnatural to your heart. Perhaps the problem is that it's too natural, but experienced too little. Tom told us how he has a job, a job he has to walk to, and it's not a convenient distance away. He has to walk for several hours before he gets there. He had been staying at Jesus Saves downtown, but got kicked out that very same night because they accused him of smuggling in a half gallon jar of vodka the night before. He said he didn't, citing that he had nowhere to hide it. I will assume he's telling the truth. It felt as if he was.

He told us a rending story of living in California with his girlfriend of fifteen years, and then faced a month of incredible hardship. His house burned down, his girlfriend was arrested, there were other events, events I didn't ask about. These events led him here to Colorado, where he continued to fail to get footing in his life. He's been on the street for a little over one year now. He feels that every time he's about to step on firm ground, the devil knocks him off. He cried when he told us he wasn't sure if he would wake up in time to get to work. He cried again before we left. He said that when he's just about at the end of his rope, ready to throw in the towel, give up, write it all off, strangers come along and give him a blanket. His metaphor saying, “GOD cares about me.” Tom's story is breaking. The man's educated: he's a male nurse and was relatively successful. He's smart. He knows, and he's lived. Now I can only assume he's sleeping on cold ground in downtown Denver. Tears gather at my eyes as I type this. I pray for Tom. Tom breaks my heart.

Todd was there too. Todd looked smart. Todd looked as if he was a character that knew more than he was telling, but was slowly laying his cards on the table, revealing things piece by piece. He did none of that with us, but he had that feeling to him. He admits that he is an alcoholic, and that's what keeps him there. He's been there for three years. He's quick to admit that it's his fault, however, and not the fault of others. He didn't divulge his story. He seemed content to sit and listen, eyes closed, mouth over his hand, pure concentration. He told us of kids coming downtown to give each person a dollar, and watching “the gluttons” come along and try to grab fistfuls of dollars from the hands of these children. “The dollar won't help you out of your situation,” says Todd. “The dollar is merely a symbol, a gesture. It's the kids saying, 'we know you're here, and we care.' That's what the dollar says. Trying to snatch the stack of dollars from the kids only steals their resolve. It hardens their heart to you and scares them. The important thing is to not stop what you're doing. Don't give up. You can't give up.” His story to us. He checked out early. He had a room at Jesus Saves and had to get to bed. I would have liked to have heard more from him. I pray for Todd.

Angel I heard the least from. He seemed content to listen, occasionally throwing out an anecdote or detail. It seemed clear that this talk was to be centered on Tom. Tom was the one having a hard time. Angel was clearly the youngest of the group, though still older than myself. He had been released from prison in August, and had been on the street since. He spent two years in prison, what for, we didn't ask and he didn't say. That's fine. It's in the past, and that's where it belongs. Angel looked like he was the closest to getting out of there, like he was the one that had adjusted quickest to his system, and the one to most quickly utilize it. He had a job, and a room at Jesus Saves. He and Tom got into a light theological debate about the nature of struggle, and what that means in the life of a Christian. All three men claimed Christ, and it felt genuine. Angel seemed pretty happy and less troubled than Todd and Tom. I pray for Angel.

The things that cause these conversations are kind of strange, benign, almost unseen and minuscule. I talked to Robert because whoever was first talking to him passed him off on me, not wanting to talk to someone who's going to nerd talk about Star Trek. I talked to Tom and Felix because Chelsea talked to Felix, Mike talked to Tom, and I didn't want to leave my friends, being the only two in the group I knew. I talked to Todd, Angel and Tom because an old man I'd given a blanket to shouted “GOD bless you,” and I shouted back, “God bless you, wait, let me shake your hand.” I shook their hands, then I talked with them for thirty minutes. Tom got a batman blanket.

I shook their hand.

Jesus God

So, I have this friend that has significantly and profoundly impacted my beliefs and my operations as a Christian in a way that no other person has since I became a Christian. He challenged my beliefs in many areas that, frankly, I didn't think needed challenging. His own beliefs have radically evolved in the few year gap in our friendship where we didn't hang out together.

One of the beliefs he has altered is the divinity of Jesus. He no longer believes that Jesus is God, though he is quick to affirm that Jesus is the name to be praised above all others, and that He is worthy of our worship and admiration such as no other man alive. He was the first of all men to be completely united with the Holy Spirit of God Himself to become the thing that God wishes for all men to become. He also doesn't arrive at this decision willy nilly. He views it as simple logical cohesion. How can you believe in one God, yet there are different personages for him? My friend said this is mental gymnastics trying to accomodate a simple untruth.

It's a frightening idea. Not only is it the core tenant of my beliefs, but I'm certain all American Christians. If Jesus is indeed literally God, to deny that would be a blasphemy I would not be willing to take.

It's also empowering. Jesus said these mysterious things like, "be holy as I am holy," and "greater things than these will you do," and it seems a little defeating knowing that He's God. But if He isn't, and we can have the exact same access to the exact same Power and Personage He does, then that's an exciting possibility. That opens up potential for us that seemed impossible prior.

As such, this is something I want very much to be able to arrive to a conclusion on my own. I've always taken the "truth of the matter" for granted, but do wonder if perhaps there is merit in my friend's words. I want to dedicate myself to reading the new testament. I want to start with hebrews, as i think this book has the most information as to who Jesus is, and his nature. After I've accomplished that, I want to read what others say about the topic, both Christian and non-Christian. I feel this is something important that I most definitely need an answer for.

Purpose

The purpose of this blog is to talk about religion and philosophy. The two don't always go together, but I'mpretty lazy, so layoff me. You're lucky you're getting this much. I mean, come on, do you see the ridiculous number of blogs I've got. Ungrateful bastards.