An interview with Benjamin James

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz with Benjamin James Roberts

 

(Mobile devices are fine, but due to the visual aspects included, this interview is best viewed via a computer.)


Ben, by trade, is a musician, photographer, and videographer. Sliding in and out of his different creative roles he requires two personas to keep things straight: Benjamin James for music and Ben Roberts for his visual work.

Ben is also one of my favorite people on the planet, a man who holds my deepest respect.

He's consistently been one of my closest allies for my own creative pursuits - freely sharing his advice and experiences, contributing to my work (he's played piano and provided vocals for both "Promised Land" and "A Thousand Cathedrals"), and his opinion is one I value extremely highly. But above all, I value Ben as my friend and brother. 

He stood by my side on my wedding day and left it all on the dance floor, we've explored Iceland together with our spouses and good friends ("Love Teach Me" below - filmed on our trip), and we've sipped a lot of tea together asking the difficult questions of faith, philosophy, and how we are to live. 

Ben is a listener, a deep observer, and subsequently a teacher by example. And when he sets his mind to something, he's all in...and it shows in his work and in his life. 

Ben's work is simultaneously abstract and deeply personal; to this point, the subject of a great portion of his conceptually visual work is his wife, Lydia. Ben's portfolio is breathtaking (pieces placed throughout his interview, and a link at its conclusion) and he has amassed recordings of over 30 (incredible) songs in the past few years.

Check out his portfolio, dive into his music, check out his synth skills (currently on a U.S. tour in John Mark McMillan's band through mid-November), but first: keep scrolling. Ben's interview has nuggets of gold, folks.

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In a variety of avenues, you make your living by being creative. What are some of your practices to remain creatively sharp, and what advice would you have for others to help to foster and grow their own inner creative flames?

 

Ben: Practice is really the key word for me here. I used to think of creativity as some kind of magical process in which the gods randomly chose a tortured artist to be their mouthpiece for a day. This view sometimes fosters the absurd belief that an artist doesn’t have any “influences” but just creates things out of thin air, regardless of their cultural situation. Instead, I think it’s more accurate to define the creative process as a discovery of unexpected connections. In other words, the creative person is able to combine things that everyone else thinks are incompatible. With this in mind, the practice of creativity involves gathering as many influences as possible and seeing how they might work together. Legos provide a good analogy: you can create something nice with a few legos, but the more building blocks you have, the more interesting a structure you can build. The magic of legos, and creativity in general, is not the fact that the individual legos can combine to create a structure, but that different combinations will be created depending on who is building.

For me, staying creatively sharp requires: 1. A constant gathering of influences that I find inspiring and excellent (new music, new photography, new videos). And 2. Developing my skill set enough that I am able to actually make my ideas a reality. Another analogy: let’s say that inspiration is water and your skill set is a funnel. The larger your funnel - aka, the greater your skill set - the more water can come through. You can see why it’s important to keep your skill set and your influences well balanced; there’s no use gathering an ocean of influences if your funnel will only let it trickle out. Conversely, there’s no use, from a creative standpoint, in developing your skill but not gathering enough inspiration to do something new and exciting.

To put it simply: practice a lot, and constantly expose yourself to amazing work other people are doing in the same area.

If, for example, you are a writer, read the best, most beautiful books in the world. Then, figure out why those books are the best, use whatever you find in your own writing (practice), then repeat the process with an author of a totally different style. It really doesn’t have to be much more complicated than that. Imagine the style of Victor Hugo (who wrote Les Miserables) paired with the science fiction storytelling of Isaac Asimov (The Foundation Trilogy, I Robot). Or, in music, what do you get when you add Kendrick Lamar with Bob Dylan and Bon Iver? Could be pretty interesting. The last thing I would say is to simply refuse to stop creating. Of course it feels terrible when somebody doesn’t like something you’ve made, but as long as you keep going, you’ll eventually make something that you can be proud of and that other people will appreciate.  

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Your latest album is entitled “Change Is Everything”. What are some of the physical and spiritual foundations of this thesis that you have found to hold true? Also, personally – either currently or aspirationally – how do you see yourself transforming and evolving?

 

Ben: Well first I want to preface by saying that the statement "Change is Everything" is a metaphysical claim that has some strong implications and brings with it a whole set of difficult philosophical problems which I am not qualified to solve. Instead, maybe I'll focus on why the idea interested me in the first place and what it could mean for the way we approach reality.

For me, spirituality was always tied in some way or another to the natural world. My Mom jokes sometimes that all it takes to make me happy is camping and food. But my relationship to the natural world really changed when I began learning about sustainability and humanity's relationship to the planet in general. At that point, treating the planet (and my body as a part of the planet) appropriately became an ethical problem. That was all fine, but I was still aware that there were deep problems in the way I saw things. I had heard someone say that the less you know about philosophy the more likely you are to be controlled by it. That was definitely true for me. I was approaching the world as if Aristotle's work on Physics and Metaphysics were still the authoritative understanding of nature. In that way of thinking, the world is made of substances whose natural state is to be at rest, separate from other things. Everything that moves only does so as a result of being "pushed" by a mover. Rene Descartes, a French philosopher in the 17th century, carried this line of thought further by positing the existence of two different substances that the world was made of. The first of these substances was matter, the second spirit, or mind. Following from the definition of substance these two things were necessarily separate in the strongest sense of the word. We then have a world in which the mind is completely separate from matter, and matter is made of isolated things that do not depend on anything else for their existence. It’s a lonely, valueless picture of the universe.

This is no longer the dominant view of science. But I think that this line of thought has contributed much to the lack of value we place in our planet, as well as our feeling that we are somehow separate from it. It's much easier for me to destroy my own body or dump plastic in the ocean if I think that matter has no inherent value and that I am not ultimately affected by anything that happens to it.

So with this in mind, I've been trying to explore new ways of looking at myself and the world. That is the real subtext of the new album. For me, saying that "Change is Everything" is a way of resolving some of these problems. It's a reference to Process philosophy, which says that the world is not made of things; the world is made of events. These events are then composed entirely of relationships; everything is in the process of becoming. This can seem pretty non-intuitive but think about this: if we could live for a billion years, objects like rocks - which seem very permanent - would look like a momentary getting together of sand. Another helpful visualization is the fact that glass, although it appears to be solid, is technically a slow moving liquid. It's common to look at something like a flower and to assume that it is separate from everything else, but why should we believe this? There are no such things as flower atoms. A flower is made of completely non-flower elements. When springtime comes the sun, the dirt and the rain are drawn up into a beautiful symphony that we call "flower". But how can we understand the flower without referencing the rain? Or the rain without understanding the clouds? Or the clouds without talking about the ocean? The ocean without the rivers? Or the dirt without talking about the minerals and the worms? How can we talk about the sun without mentioning the Milky Way? In this way, our flower is not just itself, it is the entire universe as expressed in a pretty little plant. The same is true of us humans. As Carl Sagan once said, "We are made of star stuff".

In a process view of reality, relationships are fundamental. But these cannot be two things in relationship, then we are just using Descartes' vocabulary. We are in the habit of thinking of things like "left" and "right" as two separate entities in relationship with one another. But imagine a 12-inch ruler: it has a right side and a left side, and is connected by the tick marks that run across its surface. But if we cut it in half we haven't separated the left from the right, we have only created a new left and right. That's because left and right go together. It's very useful to talk about them like they are separated - and we should continue to do so, for the sake of convenience - but we have to keep in mind that we are imposing an arbitrary distinction, and that distinction is most likely not a characteristic of the physical object. Now to stretch our analogy as far as possible: replace the 12-inch ruler with the universe itself and the process view of reality as made of ever-changing relationships comes into focus. It is similar to the root systems of redwood trees. Although Redwoods seem incredibly tall, their root system is comparatively tiny. In order to remain standing, they spread their roots as far out as possible and mingle with the roots of other redwoods, and collectively they are able to stand. Nothing exists in isolation, everything depends on everything else.

Another consequence of this line of thinking is that the idea of a Self dissolves. If I am not just a thing that changes but a set of ever-changing relationships then there can be no fundamental distinction between myself and the world. And further, who I am in this moment is not who I was or who I will be. This is very much in line with my experience. When I think of who I was in high school I barely recognize myself. I've found that every experience changes me on some level. There is also potential for a therapeutic approach to life latent in this. If everything is always changing, it is useless to try to hold on so tight to things. When something bad happens it's natural to adapt to that situation in whatever way we can, and then continue to act that way whenever an analogous situation arises. This can be helpful and important for a time, but once the situation has changed and we are no longer in danger, we need to be able to re-adapt to our new environment in a way that is appropriate and non-destructive. I'm not saying that all of our traumas would be resolved if we would just be in the moment and realize that things have changed since the original trauma occurred. But I am saying is that this understanding of things gives us a way to work through those issues on a daily and even momentary basis.

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One of the things I love about you is your thirst and quest for knowledge, and the subsequent excitement of discovery and understanding. What’s “blowing your mind” these days, and what have been some of the monumental books or texts in your personal quest that you would recommend?

 

Ben: Currently my mind is being blown wide open by science, philosophy and critical thinking. Up until the presidential election last year I was mostly against these things, thinking that they were dangerous to the creative process and hopelessly inadequate attempts to get at the truth. I think I was wrong. In a world of “alternative facts” and “fake news” I don’t think we have the luxury of subscribing to such weak epistemological foundations (by epistemology I mean “how we know what we know” and “why we believe certain things”). This sounds a little academic, but bear with me. I realized that the foundation for most of my beliefs had nothing to do with evidence but with my desire for things to be a certain way. This caused me a lot of anxiety because I was constantly being confronted by a reality that didn’t act the way I thought it should, and as a result I had to either change my beliefs in such moments or try to ignore/suppress the evidence that was telling me I was wrong. Most events in our lives aren’t intense enough to warrant a total change in belief system, but some demand it. And when we find ourselves in those situations my experience has been that it is dangerous to ignore the facts. Of all epistemological systems I know of, I think that the scientific method is most aware of this. That is because science is attempting to explain the world not as it should be, but how it is. And it turns out that scientist are actually serious about this. If new evidence suggests that the current explanation is inadequate, they will try to find a better explanation. In this sense, nothing in science is sacred except truth itself. While this certainly shouldn’t be applied to every area of our lives (especially not Ethics), I think we could all learn something from this approach.

Smartphones and the internet have made information more available than food for some people. And if that constant stream of information is here to stay, we will all need a better way of figuring out what we should or should not believe. If the only criteria for our believing something is whether or not we like it, or whether or not it works to our advantage, we are setting ourselves up for a lot of disappointment, and even more anxiety. I’m finding that skepticism and critical thinking are a really good way of addressing this problem. And, ironically, they have actually increased my sense of wonder and imagination. It turns out that reality is sometimes more interesting and crazy than anything we could have thought of.

But I do want to reiterate that, at this point, I'm not trying to say that science and philosophy are the only valid way of seeking truth. I just think that they are very important for maintaining a strong democracy as well as a strong belief system.

Here are some books that have been really influential for me. I can’t say that I agree with everything in these books, but they have changed me nonetheless:

Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand     

Ishmael - Daniel Quinn

Animal Farm - George Orwell

The Perennial Philosophy - Aldous Huxley

A Psychological Approach to the Trinity - Carl Jung

Discourse on Inequality Among Mankind - Jean Jacques Rousseau

Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Germinal - Emile Zola

The Three Pillars of Zen - Phillip Kaplan

Zen Mind, Beginners Mind - Shunryu Suzuki

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance - Robert Pirsig

The Story of Philosophy - Will Durant

A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking

Reality is Not What it Seems - Carlo Rovelli

The Demon-Haunted World - Carl Sagan

Currently reading: The Big Picture by Sean Carrol and The Brothers Karamozov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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Connect with Ben: 

http://www.benrobertsphoto.com

Instagram: @benjaminjamesmusic

Music: Spotify / iTunes

A Lament, An Observation, and A Meditation

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz

 

Three poems, written in the woods of Maine.

 

A Lament - 

Our Father, who art in heaven,
why must you live so far away?

It’s pleasant enough here, I think.

We wait every week for an hour or two,
wondering if you’ll show up. 

I’m the bell-ringer, 
to let you know where to come.
Our church has a big tree
and a red door
and is next to the graveyard
where my father is buried. 

You’re the only father I have now.

Sunday mornings,
we sing holy, holy, amen - 
our choir of shopkeeper sinners
and mechanic sinners
and housewife sinners
and barely-scraping-by sinners
and barely-old-enough-to-be-a-sinner sinners
but still sinners all the same.

We read the book you wrote,
and taste the stale body
and the bitter blood
of your son. 

We give money
to mail to you in heaven,
or perhaps it’s here waiting for you to spend
however you would like.

We sit
very
still

On wooden pews,
and say “brother” and “sister”
to each other
for we are a family
while we wait.

But you’ve never come. 

Or, at least, I’ve never seen you.

I know you’re busy,
taking care of other sinners.
And for the hungry Negroes in Africa
who would be very happy
to eat what is left on my plate.

But one day
I would very much like to see you.

//

 

An Observation - 

I’ve heard that Jesus doesn’t care much for the rich,
and he’s got my vote for that - 
bunch of oil-loving greedy bastards. 
Easy enough, I’d say.

And there’s a tax in place for the poor,
and I pay it good and proper;
for we are a Christian nation, 
and we can’t have beggars in our cities
for the love of Christ now can we?

And for the beggars overseas, 
God help them,
for if they can’t bring in a decent politician
there’s really nothing that can be done - 
on our end, besides. 
So that all squares away the poor.

But what about the middle class?

The tax-paying, 
God-fearing, 
Bible-believing,
Hard-working,
Middle class? 

For we are taxed, we are - 
until we’re red around the eyes
and white in the face
and blue about the gills.

Does Jesus care that I can’t afford the doctor?
Or insurance?
Or university for the children?
Or the mortgage?
And if the son of God knows how in the bloody hell…
I apologize, you see I get a bit worked up over the matter.
If the son of God knows how I am to retire,
He should inform me, for I haven’t a clue. 

I’m as grateful as I can be that He paid the price for my sins,
truly I am. 
But if Jesus can’t start getting his act together,
I may be forced to rescind my vote.

//

 

A Meditation - 

 

I receive you.

(Wait)

I receive you.

(Oh spirit, be still)

I receive you.

(Oh breath, mix with wind)

 

I receive you.

I give you.

I receive you.

I give you.

I receive you.

(Rise, bless and be blessed)

 

I bless you. 

I bless you.

I bless you. 

 

Make my fingers sticky
with the sap of blessings.
I bless the trees
and their outstretched hands.

I bless the soil, 
from Whom all blessings rise. 

Rise, and bless.
Kneel, and bless.

I bless the seeds,
and their unrelenting hope.
And I bless the dead,
for soon they will hold the hope of the seed.

Death and life.
Growth and soil.

Rise, and bless.
Kneel, and bless.
Give, and receive.

//

John Lucas song spotlight - Son of God

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz

Tomorrow, those of us in the States will celebrate America's birthday. It's been a few years since I've been able to partake, but the Kovasckitz family tradition is to gather in the small town of Hope Mills, NC for the 4th of July. My grandparents' house is on Main Street, and the annual parade passes right in front of their house. My grandpa, who passed away a couple of years ago, would dress up Newt (his large stuffed gorilla) in his typical Notre Dame Fighting Irish shirt with an American flag in its hand. Newt would sit on grandpa's lap, and would wave at the floats.

The kids (and the more competitive aunts and uncles - Aunt Di, I'm looking at you), would line chairs and towels as close to the road as possible, but we didn't stay in our seats much. We would scramble for the candy thrown by the beauty pageant queens, the firefighters, and the clowns. Later, we would bring the loot to the living room, where the cousins would wager their Tootsie Rolls and Starbursts within fairly intense Texas Hold'em showdowns for the glory and spoils. We would then play croquet or football in the yard until we got too hot, swim, and then repeat until the fireworks that night. Not to be forgotten, Kovasckitzs are well known for their ability to eat large quantities of food, and our power would be on grand display throughout the day.

I have loved celebrating the 4th of July, and I will do so tomorrow. And yet, I know some of you will relate when I say that the holiday brings with it mixed emotions...especially this year. 

There's a twinge of hesitation to shoot explosives into the air and to holler in celebration of an empire that rose to power through the genocide of the lands' native peoples, and on the backs of slaves pulled from their own homeland. I find it hard to raise my glass to a nation that spends more on our military than the next eight nations combined, which has caused untold destruction and death. This year the United States is in quite lonely company with our decision to pull out of the global agreement to acknowledge and to attempt to combat climate change. It is also no secret that I am not a supporter of POTUS 45: Donald J. Trump...

And yet, this is my homeland. This is the land that I love. And I believe that she is already beautiful, and that she can be made even greater. Not the empire, but the land. The people. 

I'm going to spend tomorrow with my wife and family, grateful for the life that I have been given. I'm going to shoot off fireworks for our friends, Josh and Carolyn, who welcomed their newborn son Jonas into the world today. I'm going to drink to the Redwoods, the Grand Tetons, the coast of Washington State, and the Blue Ridge Mountains. 

God bless America.

God bless America with eyes for the poor. God bless America with a people that stands up against the empire. God bless America with discomfort. God bless America with a thriving economy of love and compassion. God bless America with humility. God bless America with the ability to see those outside of our borders as equals, as brothers and sisters of the human race - even those with brown skin and without resources. God bless America with death and rebirth.

I am no longer able to pledge allegiance to the flag. I can't place my hand over my heart and say the words. The empire - America - is not my God. And I think perhaps often we get the two confused.

When God is on our side, our economy flourishes.

When God is on our side, our military is victorious. 

When God is on our side, our church buildings are full. The offering plates overflow.

Deeper still.

When God is on our side, we have a beautiful partner. 

When God is on our side, we can always pay our bills.

When God is on our side, the disease goes away. 

When God is on our side, we are a white-American-heterosexual-Christian, a former wretch saved by grace, but now practically perfect in every way.

I think God is less concerned with choosing sides than dwelling within. Dwelling within those inside and outside of our constructed borders. That said, I don't believe that God dwells on the side of the empire...the empires of our nations and corporations, our churches, or our own personal empires.

We all hold empires inside of our chests. We personally pledge allegiance to comfort-food-sex-sleep-entertainment-power-wealth-fame.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. Give me the bravery to value the kingdom unseen above the empire that is seen.

I recently recorded an album called "A Thousand Cathedrals". Available on all empires of music: Spotify, iTunes, Bandcamp, Apple Music, etc...

There are a couple of songs in particular that draw on the theme of empires, one of them being Son of God. I've gotten a fair amount of requests to explain a bit of the heart behind the lyrics, which are based on the temptations of Jesus (found in Matthew 4). In the passage, Jesus is tempted by Satan, or the devil...the enemy of God. I see in this being the collection or representation of evil - (at least in this case) it seems that it is an inner conflict, perhaps the ego of Jesus himself. For if Jesus was fully man, he must have battled his own ego, as do we all. On a bit of a side note, I find it fairly interesting that it seems the devil is quite good at quoting scripture...

If you're the son of God...

The song begins with the temptations of Jesus by Satan, and slowly progresses into our own temptations of Jesus. Protect my borders, crush the heads of my enemies. Give me comfort. Protect my empire.

And I believe that the response the song builds to is the response of God, when we act out of a state of empire instead of kingdom. Kingdom being that which manifests God through the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. Empire is that which builds a kingdom in our own image: jealousy, lust, selfishness, greed, injustice, revenge...

Away from me, I never knew you.

Remember, my creation, my love, that which is inside of you. Be made wild again. 

I invite you to meditate on the passage, and then to listen to the song as you read through the lyrics. And tomorrow, let us celebrate kingdom and not empire.

Thy kingdom come, Father. Thy will be done. 

Amen and amen.


Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.”

Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’"

Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written:

“‘He will command his angels concerning you,
    and they will lift you up in their hands,
    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’”

Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.”

Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’"

Matthew 4:1-10

If you're the son of God
Throw yourself down
Surely your father will heed your call
Surely the angels will catch your fall

If you're the son of God
Then why do you starve? 
Turn the rocks into loaves of bread
Find pleasure in the evening within your bed

If you're the son of God
Then why is there pain? 
Are you weak, or are you not good? 
Oh will you be defeated by a cross of wood? 

If you're the son of God
Vanquish my enemies
Protect my borders and securities
And crush the heads of those who'd rob my peace

Oh praise the son of God
The one who has set me free
He is my passage from the gates of hell
He is my refuge from the infidel

Oh praise the son of God
Who knows my every will
For pleasure is the blessing, child
And I must have my fill

Away from me, away from me
I never knew you
You are the cell that holds my child within
Fling open the doors and be made wild again
Away from me, away from me
I never knew you

An interview with Dominic Laing

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz with Dominic Laing

I've never met Dom in person...I don't know how he takes his coffee, whether or not he has a dog, or what kind of car he drives. However, there are few people in my life that have personally pushed me forward, encouraged, and inspired me in the manner that he has.

I couldn't afford to record my last album Promised Land out-of-pocket, and needed to raise the money through Kickstarter. The campaign started off strong, but hit a lull mid-point. There were a couple of $10 and $20 days, and I started to seriously doubt myself...to question why I had put myself out there in the first place, and to doubt the songs I had written. 

It was during this point that I received a very substantial contribution from a guy named Dominic Laing from Philadelphia (he's now putting down roots in Portland, OR). I thought it must have been a mistake, but a few minutes later he sent me a message containing these lines: "...much of what you hope to see, much of what you believe exists in the heart of every person -- I believe and walk with you. I'm too broken to be cynical, too hurt to be angry. I'm just gonna believe every word you say and do what I can to support the howl in your heart."

I collapsed weeping in my wife's arms, repeating I don't understand, I don't understand. And I still don't...strangers don't give like Dom. But I knew in that moment that the album was going to be funded...and it was. Over two hundred people gave to make it come together in the end, and I'm incredibly grateful for every person that poured so much into the process. But it's Dom's gift that I will always remember. I later connected with one of Dom's friends through a project, and when I told him the story of Dom's gift he said that he wasn't surprised at all...and that Dom was "one hell of a guy".  

As it turns out, Dom is also one hell of a poet.

Dom's poetry is rich, and it leaves an ache...often it's simultaneously holy and profane (perhaps as are we all), simultaneously "Now and Not Yet". From the interview below, which is poetry itself: "This form of communion isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. If anything that’s more confirmation that I need to keep doing it. Poetry pulls me close to God and into his appalling strangeness. Poetry is my whistling in the dark, my undignified dance and my sackcloth and ash."

From the correspondence we've had, and from his poetry, I've come to know Dom as both fiery and gentle...gracious, kind, and full of humility. One hell of a guy to be sure.

I've posted a handful of my favorites from his book of poetry, "Smoke by Day, Fire by Night" below...which he is offering to send to you (yes, you) for free. No catches, no gimmicks, simply a gift - instructions for how to get your hands on one found at the very end of this post, along with his information. Dom also does incredible video work..."When the Saints" - a powerful short film which he wrote and directed - is posted below.

Dom's interview will truly make you a better human being. As my boy Pete Holmes says: get into it.

be here with me,
be now with me — 
presence for present's sake.
not for the sake of "later," 
not for the false promise of
"greater,"
not for pearly gates,
harps, halos,
mansions or yellow-brick roads.
be here with me
and behold with me;
stay awhile with me
and pray wild with me;
dance like amber waves.
church and praise like ocean waves.
burn and blaze, bonfire bright.
smoke by day, fire by night. 

//

do I prefer old ghosts
to new flesh?
am I more comfortable
being haunted,
as opposed to being seen anew?
do I sing old songs and old tunes;
do I wear old clothes
and dig out old wounds?
do I settle for holdable,
malleable, passive memory —
can I turn memories into marionettes?
do I wind back the clock
and seek to reset sun, moon and stars?
teach my hands to be brave,
shepherd.
teach my heart how to be brave, son. 

//

how precious and how glorious —
to confess lack.
to profess wound.
to express gap.
          "here, brother; I fall short."
          "here, sister; I don't know."
          "here, my love; I fear — I tremble."
how rare, how melodious;
how comet-fall, how northern-lights,
how broken, how ashen,
how many-splendored,
how tear-stained and levitating,
how fishes and loaves and po' boys,
how prayer and second-line beads,
how grace and grace
how amazing and amazing.
          to be gathered.
          to be warmed.
          to be known in full.
          to be loved in full.

//

yes, darkness —
but still, light.
yes fear;
but still, fight.
yes, mud — and yes, mire;
but still, blood.
but still, fire.
bare knuckles.
bare souls.
bare hurt.
be whole.

//

shake dust
and be shaken.
raise hell
and be risen.

 

Can you give a basic timeline of your life up to this point? This doesn’t have to be super in-depth, but I’d love to hear of some of the stages that have helped to shape who you are today.

Dom: I’m Dominic, and I believe in grace, communion, mystery and tenderness. Or, put another way:

— 1 of 4 —

In junior high, I wrote my first short story. It’s not good. It involves a high schooler — a Donnie Darko, moody, introspective type — who kills his cheating girlfriend and her lover in a fit of rage.

Now, cheating partners and crimes of passion are well-worn literary devices; but when you attend a tiny private Christian school, a story about teenagers, sex and murder raises an eyebrow or two.

Glenda Vanderkam, my English teacher for 6th and 8th grade, as well as my art teacher (small school, remember) met with myself and my parents. She didn’t chastise or reprimand me. She didn’t tell me I was wasting my time and should do something more productive.

Instead, with compassion and kindness, she told me to keep writing.

— 2 of 4 —

Also in junior high, I saw the film Amadeus.

Antonio Salieri, a good-but-never-great composer, meets Mozart and considers him a brat, a divine joke unworthy of God’s bequeathed genius. He hatches a plan to drive Mozart insane.

And now, standing at the foot of Mozart’s deathbed, he’s almost succeeded.

Except now he sees Mozart’s unfinished work — a requiem. He examines the sheet music, and he’s overcome by the beauty. “…Let me help,” says Salieri.

Mozart’s spirit awakens. Salieri, armed with ink and quill, transcribes Mozart’s dictations.

“First, the tenors…” In the soundtrack, the voices float over both Mozart and Salieri. The bass voices follow, linked now with the tenors. Bassoon and trumpet and timpani and strings cascade behind them, instrument building upon instrument. Salieri struggles to keep up —

“You’re going too fast!”

“Do you have me?” Screams Mozart.

Salieri finishes the last notation and flips the pages to Mozart, who lunges for them. His eyes scan the pages, his right arm raises as if he’s conducting the orchestra, and —

— with utter majesty, the requiem rises to life, all parts in unison, more beautiful and terrifying than Salieri or Mozart could have imagined. God’s glory on full display.

— 3 of 4 —

The summer after I graduated college, three years after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast, I and six others spent a month in New Orleans, Louisiana, working with various non-profit organizations.

Never before had I encountered such a sweet and aching place. New Orleans bursts at the seams with rage and revelry. Death and dirge to the cemetery, then Life Everlasting and Second Line back to the church.

A city and its citizens, in danger of being forever defined by its trauma, raises song and shout (and Bourbon Street to-go cups) to once more profess belief in healing, to once more unspool a yearning for God’s Electric Shore, once more…When the Saints Go Marching In.

New Orleans is also the birthplace of Jazz. On Sundays, the slaves gathered in Congo Square, just outside the French Quarter. There, they would play their ancestral music, dance, and call on the Name.

“Life hurts like a motherfucker,” they seemed to say, “But we…we shall come forth as gold.”

— 4 of 4 —

When I was 26, I moved to Philadelphia. Eight days later, a kid told me he had a gun and demanded my cash and my phone. He fled around the corner. He was arrested later that day.

We wound up exchanging a few letters, and eventually, I wound up visiting him in prison.

Philadelphia’s a vibrant, precious city. If they love you, they want you at every Christmas dinner. But if they hate you, you’re a leper. In this way, Philadelphia taught me about the necessity of tenderness.

Not about its rewards or benefits, but its necessity.

Hatred risks nothing and rewards nothing. But tenderness risks being broken, battered and blown to smithereens.

It’ll always be easier to tell the world to go fuck itself. Such rejection tosses aside the belief that the world could be something other than what’s seen.

Tenderness, though, demonstrates profound belief in the hearts of others. It acknowledges what is, and hopes for what could be. Such belief does not relent, and is stronger than any weapon.

Tenderness is the clear and consistent declaration of love.

It is the Lord’s current which takes us, cleans us and guides us home.

 

What is it about storytelling in its various forms that draws you in, and what do you feel is the power of a well-told story within our culture?

Dom: “Once upon a time…” goodness, don’t you love those words?

Good storytelling is a good campfire; something built that seeks out others and calls them to itself. “Come and gather. See and be seen.” Storytelling invites and illumines. It welcomes others to sit and be revealed.

And as you share of yourself, you too are illuminated.  The other person leans in, and through storytelling all ‘other’-ness sheds. By campfire light, we enter a fuller knowledge of our friends.

Again: Invitation. Not proclamation, or defamation. Invitation.

Storytelling plants me in the company of other people. Storytelling allows me to participate in currents of hope and ache with others. We stand in those vibrant waters together.

“The Kingdom of God is like…” Christ healed the sick, made sure no one went hungry, and he told stories. His storytelling always pushed Kingdom, always hummed with love that bent him toward the destitute.

Christ expressed the Now and the Not Yet. Christ could talk about people working in the field, and the audience would understand.

But how are workers in a field like the Kingdom of God? How is something we know and inhabit — Now — like something we’re ignorant of and don’t see — Not Yet?

Storytelling confronts, comforts and places us in loving spaces of tension. The tension of storytelling, that which makes you feel seemingly contradictory emotions — that’s the mystery and romance of God.

There is God, on the cross, bleeding; and there is God, in heaven, silent; and there is God, in our souls, weeping, split wide open and living in perpetual wound.

And yet, in the midst of this angst, we tell stories. We can’t help it. It’s our grasp for the ineffable. The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. My heart is like a throttling trombone on Frenchmen Street.

I take comfort in the fact that words fall short. Words — Now — falling short — Not Yet.

“Once upon a time…once upon a time…yes, and amen…yes, and amen…”

 

I think what I like most about your poetry is that it blurs the lines between the sacred and the “unholy”, the divine and the destitute. It’s raw, honest, and real...and in many ways it’s what I’m after when I write. I think that a lot of people are tired of the whitewashed and polished ways of describing and relating to God within a world that is full of deep injustice and pain. How have you experienced God in the grit and brokenness of your own life and the lives of others?

Dom: First, thank you. You’re very kind.

Poetry as prayer — as confession — as liturgical orientation. Here I am, and here you are. This is me with a blank canvas — Christ, abide with me.

Think of the poems as emotional coordinates. Along with that, consider the strange truth — sometimes disappointing, sometimes jubilant — that when I’m honest, where I think I am isn’t where my heart tells me I’m located.

Poems allow me to explore my spirit, and I’m not always thrilled with what I find. However, the more I write, the more peace I experience about myself and how I relate to God. I can make peace with the occasional foul language and the repeated use of the word ‘ache’ because that’s where the Maker has me.

So as I am fearfully and wonderfully made, so I make. Again, it’s communion. It’s belief in a song you’ve never sung, but whose words you’ve known from the moment of birth.

This is my story, this is my song.

This form of communion isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. If anything that’s more confirmation that I need to keep doing it. Poetry pulls me close to God and into his appalling strangeness. Poetry is my whistling in the dark, my undignified dance and my sackcloth and ash.

Wendell Berry said it better than I ever could: “It all turns on affection.” The more I write, the more I believe in affection. Even when I want to rage, even when I want to lash out and strike at the world, poetry and communion with God crooks me down to affection, to its slow, peculiar and sonorous work.

Still, I hope. Still, I believe.

 

I can relate first-hand (without even having met you) that you lead a life of generosity and compassion for others. What is it that you want to pass along to others through your life, and what gives you this fire?

Dom: A hammer can build a home or crack a skull. It’s all in how you use it. I can use whatever funds I have to shore up my walls and my domain and my barricades, or I can open myself, make available time and resource, and invite others into relationship.

I’ve experienced moments of molten grace in my life — kindness so emboldening that it makes me want to fly, and kindness so rich and laden it presses my face into the wet dirt.

Grace, Good Grace — that which pulls me up to Heaven, and draws me down to Earth.

I’m thinking back to times where there’ve been samaritans in my life — back in key moments when my heart was breaking — on account of betrayal, on account of loss, on account of confusion — and someone was there to listen, to lift up, to sit in the brokenness.

I can remember my heart melting like ice cream in the middle of August. I can remember feeling like I was going to weep until I was dehydrated. I can remember feeling like I was going to spontaneously combust.

And in those moments, Christ saw fit that I would not be alone.

Generosity — Affection — Tenderness — Abiding — L-O-V-E —

It’s the miracle of God in which we’re allowed to ride side-saddle. It’s living proof of Now and Not Yet.

I was thinking about “thank you” recently — those words, “thank you.” — Saying “thank you” always seems incomplete, but when I try to say ‘thank you’ again, the words feel even smaller, and the more I try to say ‘thank you’, the less it adds up to.

Sin is new every morning, and Grace is new every morning. I can’t say “thank you” all at once, so I shouldn’t keep trying. Instead, profess grace and gratitude; sown one day at a time, one breath at a time.

In the name of the Father,
thank you
In the name of the Son,
thank you
In the name of the Holy Spirit,
thank you

//

Dom's instructions to request "Smoke By Day, Fire by Night", the free book of poetry:
-Follow me on Instagram (@dominiclaing)
-DM me w/ address and number of books
-Wait :)

Dom's blog and website: www.dominiclaing.com/

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A Prayer for Easter

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz

I wrote the lines below a couple of nights ago, after watching an interview with President Trump regarding his orders to bomb Syria...orders which he gave from his private resort, while dining with the President of China and eating "the most beautiful piece of chocolate cake you've ever seen". He then misspoke, saying that he had given the orders to launch 59 missiles headed to Iraq - quickly corrected to Syria by the interviewer who was hanging on his every word.

I was sickened...sickened by the flippancy of it all. I'm sickened by a lot of things these days, and I'm often sickened by the helplessness that I feel. I'm sickened that bombs are seen by many as a humanitarian response following the use of chemical weapons...to "protect" those upon whom we have otherwise effectively closed our doors. 

And I'm sickened that sometimes, within the times that we live, a bombing could perhaps be an act of justice. And if so, maybe we should just eat as much beautiful chocolate cake as we can, because it doesn't matter much anyway. 

I don't like chocolate cake. I've never liked any kind of chocolate...I don't know why - and I'm not a picky eater - but my gag reflex activates when I taste chocolate. At birthday parties I would receive pity, because everyone likes chocolate cake

As we enter the time for remembrance of the death and resurrection of Jesus (whether you believe physically, or at least as a symbol), my prayer for us is this: f--- chocolate cake. 

Jesus was a revolutionary; he was not on the side of the empire, and he stood up to systems of powerful oppression. He stood up for the orphan, the widow, the marginalized, the forgotten, the politically undesirable, the detested, the outsider. Because of this, because he claimed to be the Son of God (as was historically the Ceasar, the political ruler, believed to have divine birth), Jesus was brutally beaten and crucified. 

Let us not whitewash the death and life of Jesus. Let us not deify our nation. Let us not value the lives of others, or our own lives, based on the borders in which we were born. May the lines below offend you, and may they offend me. 

May we move past empty words and prayers and into the great Revolution. 

 

Oh Prince of Peace,

bless these bombs and bullets -

may they always find their true home

within the flesh of the wicked.

 

Oh God of mercy,

give no mercy to our enemies

give no rest for the refugee who is not of your kingdom.

 

Oh God of justice,

fill thine prisons to overflowing

with those who misuse your name -

for in these holy houses there are many rooms.

 

Oh great comforter,

give my tribe comfort - 

as we have earned the comfort of the wicked

who have not received your favor.

 

For wide is the path of destruction

but narrow is the gate to the holy land -

of these United States.

For you knit me together in my mother’s womb;

before I was born, you knew I was worthy to live in the promised land.

 

Oh God, my Father

the wicked know not what they do.

Thank you, Jesus, for your sacrifice

and that you ask nothing of me in return.

 

Thank you for your service to this country

and for the terrors you have endured

to keep me clean and blameless.

Thank you for the blood you have shed

to keep me spotless in your sight.

 

By your stars and stripes, I am made whole.

 

Oh God of freedom,

you have made me a citizen of your country forever -

may no outsider enter your gates.

For thine is the kingdom

and the power

and the glory

forever

 

Amen

 

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Cover image by Dario-Jacopo Laganà, found through Flickr / Creative Commons. Artist's website: http://www.norte.it