Radical Transcendence

I just spent two hours making dinner. I love cooking on a Sunday. I would not call myself a particularily inspired cook. I made my grandmother's pork dressing, and braised pork ribs to go with it. It is all melding right now, in a large pot. Though many people consider me a radical, I would never call myself that. Though, at times, I have wished to be radical in some way. Probably for the fear that it generates. In one's self, and in others.
The epitome of radical, for me, is Frank Lloyd Wright. I am no student of architecture yet I feel this and know this in my bones. Wright's use of planes, movable panels, and light brought a new idea to building. And that idea was flight. He generated the elevation of spirit. He took where a person gravitates, and connects, and brought it indoors. If you could say there was an indoors and an outdoors to Wright. He smeared that line. Wright took large and played with it so it was large enough to speak to one's soul, and small enough to nuture it. He took Eastern cultures and put them in American cowboy. A delicate partition overhung by massive timbers. He made glass an art. He redefined house to mean landscape. He made view responsible for human dreaming, and forced it to cause human curiosity...then feed it. Wright would throw it away if it didn't work, or rebuild it ten times until it did. He was possessed by what guided him, and dashed those who tried to stop him, to the side. Frank Lloyd Wright was a priest in essence. His work functioning as a sacrament to those seeking something beyond their experience.

For the last three days, I have been reflecting on large. Large is only my code word for what connects me to God. It is code for 'up and out of the little crap,' and 'let me not take mundane, boring, repetitive, disappointing, and tiring for life.' Strive, express, enter, reach out and experience God. God is with us, everywhere. Verdi, Micheanglo, and Wright have conviced me of this. As well as a cast of thousands of other players.

Being Transformed By Large

The Iowa landscape of corn and beans is rolling me in with its height and lushness. There is a mythology about Iowa...that it is a flat state. That is okay with me. This general appraisal is keeping our population down. I drove out to the lake without seeing one car on the road.

The round and the roll reminds me of Micheangelo. He was a sculputor by gift, and desire. When one knows this, the Sistine Chapel ceiling becomes telling. His bodies are round, and rolling. Large and powerful. Dominating. Micheanglo was without doubt, driven and possessed by his medium: stone. These forces could not be stopped by being handed a little, tiny paint brush. He remained a sculptor when he agreed to paint. Why he painted is a mystery to me. I can only look to my own life, and the decisions I've made, for an answer. The greatest gift of Micheanglo is to allow oneself, no matter the medium.
I started writing this blog when I started school. I have one project left, that I am doing now. It has been a two year journey. Though I am on unfamilar territory, who I am as a person has remained and shown through. And gotten alittle larger I think. It is a bit foggy to try to analyze. Somewhat like the road this morning to the lake. But the landscape that framed the drive, was there.

Large

Giuseppe Verdi was born on October 9, 1813. He died January 27, 1901. I am a great fan of his because he wrote operas, and that is how I discovered him. Quite by accident, I heard his Requiem.
Calling himself, "a very doubtfull believer," Verdi did something for me that I couldn't do for myself, for nearly a year. He transported me. He made a path for me. He carried me. He reconnected me. And that is what 'large' can do for the lost.
Verdi wrote his Requiem out of love and admiration for two men in his life. The Requiem presents the wide range of human emotion, but the construction represents love. It is powerful, concentrated. Filling. Possessing every dark corner of the listener, its thunder calls despair to give up.
Verdi had begun the Requiem, but tabled it for retirement. Fooled around with raising chickens, and grew wheat and corn in his garden. From this, the Requiem emerged. He finished it in April of 1874.
I have never written a post with dates. I examined all the dates with Verdi. I did this because I needed to learn what a garden and chickens can do for a person.

It is starting with me...I can feel myself again. I wouldn't say 'back.' I am saying 'through.' I know I am not the same.

One is never the same after experiencing large.