“He must be Nordic,” I thought to
myself as his long blond hair glistened in the sunshine, set against the
backdrop of the arctic terrain. His
features were physically harsh but spiritually soothing: an Anglo-Saxon jaw, icy
blue eyes and 6’4” muscular frame brought power to his tender gaze, congenial
smile and graceful gait. His image and persona created an interesting paradox—in
my mind, that of a Viking and a saint: a white man capable of conquering,
exploiting, pillaging and pummeling, but ultimately choosing to align himself
with the marginalized, the earthly, and the immaterial.
For seven years Alec worked as an immigrant rights activist, advocate, and educator in a Christian hospitality house in El Paso, Texas, a city that straddles the westernmost border between Texas and Mexico. On a daily basis he provided nourishment and counsel to impoverished and vulnerable Mexican immigrant populations: orphaned children and elders, distressed parents, eager workers. Que es lo que usted busca? Alec would ask his fellow housemates; “what is it that you seek?” In the Gospel spirit of service and solidarity, Assumption House, located on the fringe of El Paso’s biggest barrio, has been home and sanctuary to thousands of refugees and homeless poor. In this community there were no mojados, no aliens; strangers were greeted and treated as kin. Alec tilled the land and shared meals with these seekers, and he tended to them: he accompanied them to various social service agencies; he listened to them; he translated for them; he respected them. Alec was an integral part of the mission of Assumption House, a community dedicated to transforming their understanding of what constitutes more just relationships between people, countries, and economies.
Each year Alec was affirmed in his commitment to Assumption House—to his faith in his work. But during the summer of his seventh year in El Paso, Alec’s mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and he decided to return home to Colorado to accompany her in her illness—and to reconnect with her after his seven-year absence. Nestled on a slope of frosted evergreens and mountain peaks and amidst luxurious ski resorts and cottages, Snowmass Village, Colorado contrasted greatly from Alec’s former El Paso home.
Back at home Alec helped care for his mom, and he worked part-time shifts at “La Luna” Ski Resort in exchange for permission to ski on the trails during off-peak hours. Having grown up in Snowmass Village, Alec possessed the skill and confidence to navigate the treacherous land on skis. His stay in Colorado was a return to his home, to his mother, and to his passion. His daily routine: steel-cut oatmeal at 5 a.m. with a side of energizing calisthenics, a swift grab of his skis and equipment, and out the door to hit the slopes. His time with the wind, the sun, the ice and the potential and limits of his body was both meditative and thrilling.
---
…I’m not sure where I should go with this story. Perhaps some mystical creature or elder sage who works in an old ski resort on an abandoned path poses a question that causes Alec to wonder if extreme skiing is as meaningful and important as his work in El Paso. I chose Snowmass Village, Colorado as Alec’s hometown because it has a famous course for professional extreme skiers. I wanted Alec to train intensely for this competition, and I wanted to experiment with unique adjectives to describe the endorphin-induced highs that resulted from him following his passion. Then I would pose the question: what is the place and value of such pursuits? Maybe Alec’s downfall would approach as his fame escalated in extreme ski circuits—and as his reflections on ultimate meaning deepened in light of his mom’s illness and of his El Paso memories. The (hypothetical) climax: Alec is at the starting line atop “Pitkins Point,” the fictional apex of the Snowmass Village extreme ski course. Two lights are reflected off of the icy path in front of him: that of the sun (perhaps a metaphor for God or something ultimate) and that of the thousands of photographers preparing for his exhilarating descent. Alec is inundated with memories of his now deceased mother and of the many people he helped in El Paso. He wonders: are there greater goods to strive for in this life? And even: does God exist? What would He want for and from me [Alec]?
The horn is about to sound. The lights are still glowing and flashing as Alec’s thoughts stir anxiously. Is there a path he must choose? “Beeeeeeeep.”Alec instinctively digs his poles into the snow, propelling his body down the mountain with gusto. What happens next? Does he fall and injure himself in a way that corresponds with whatever realizations he comes to, providing readers with a clear-cut “moral of the story”? Does the author (moi!!) emphasize Alec’s internal experience of the championship race, which symbolically reveals that life is about the journey, man. That Alec’s worrying about whether one path or way of thinking is more meaningful than the other is not necessary; how can it not be right to pursue your passions completely in an effort to live a fulfilling life? …But even in light of the tragic suffering of the world?
Maybe instead, the [ridiculously good-looking] author of this short story decides to leave readers with a cliffhanger. Perhaps Alec wins the race by a ton or by a hair; or he loses the race. And then the story ends describing the scenery: the look on Alec’s face; Alec’s subsequent comments to reporters; Alec’s gaze into the dually meaningful sun…his “tender gaze, congenial smile and graceful gait”? (The steel-cut oatmeal churning in his stomach since 5 a.m.?) Does Alec still fit the image of both a Viking and a saint if he dedicates his life completely and entirely to his newly rediscovered passion for extreme skiing? Does this matter at all—in terms of the hypothetical storyline and/or in some different, transcendent meaning of the story?
It’s 4:19 p.m. on a Friday and work is slow!!! Now I understand why authors (and “seekers”) often employ deus ex machina endings to their stories and questions. It’s hard to stay engaged when wrestling with life’s complexities. Example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZ0epRjfGLw.
…..#weirdestpostever
#iwonderifanyonewilleverreadthis
#31moreminutesleft!!!
For seven years Alec worked as an immigrant rights activist, advocate, and educator in a Christian hospitality house in El Paso, Texas, a city that straddles the westernmost border between Texas and Mexico. On a daily basis he provided nourishment and counsel to impoverished and vulnerable Mexican immigrant populations: orphaned children and elders, distressed parents, eager workers. Que es lo que usted busca? Alec would ask his fellow housemates; “what is it that you seek?” In the Gospel spirit of service and solidarity, Assumption House, located on the fringe of El Paso’s biggest barrio, has been home and sanctuary to thousands of refugees and homeless poor. In this community there were no mojados, no aliens; strangers were greeted and treated as kin. Alec tilled the land and shared meals with these seekers, and he tended to them: he accompanied them to various social service agencies; he listened to them; he translated for them; he respected them. Alec was an integral part of the mission of Assumption House, a community dedicated to transforming their understanding of what constitutes more just relationships between people, countries, and economies.
Each year Alec was affirmed in his commitment to Assumption House—to his faith in his work. But during the summer of his seventh year in El Paso, Alec’s mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and he decided to return home to Colorado to accompany her in her illness—and to reconnect with her after his seven-year absence. Nestled on a slope of frosted evergreens and mountain peaks and amidst luxurious ski resorts and cottages, Snowmass Village, Colorado contrasted greatly from Alec’s former El Paso home.
Back at home Alec helped care for his mom, and he worked part-time shifts at “La Luna” Ski Resort in exchange for permission to ski on the trails during off-peak hours. Having grown up in Snowmass Village, Alec possessed the skill and confidence to navigate the treacherous land on skis. His stay in Colorado was a return to his home, to his mother, and to his passion. His daily routine: steel-cut oatmeal at 5 a.m. with a side of energizing calisthenics, a swift grab of his skis and equipment, and out the door to hit the slopes. His time with the wind, the sun, the ice and the potential and limits of his body was both meditative and thrilling.
---
…I’m not sure where I should go with this story. Perhaps some mystical creature or elder sage who works in an old ski resort on an abandoned path poses a question that causes Alec to wonder if extreme skiing is as meaningful and important as his work in El Paso. I chose Snowmass Village, Colorado as Alec’s hometown because it has a famous course for professional extreme skiers. I wanted Alec to train intensely for this competition, and I wanted to experiment with unique adjectives to describe the endorphin-induced highs that resulted from him following his passion. Then I would pose the question: what is the place and value of such pursuits? Maybe Alec’s downfall would approach as his fame escalated in extreme ski circuits—and as his reflections on ultimate meaning deepened in light of his mom’s illness and of his El Paso memories. The (hypothetical) climax: Alec is at the starting line atop “Pitkins Point,” the fictional apex of the Snowmass Village extreme ski course. Two lights are reflected off of the icy path in front of him: that of the sun (perhaps a metaphor for God or something ultimate) and that of the thousands of photographers preparing for his exhilarating descent. Alec is inundated with memories of his now deceased mother and of the many people he helped in El Paso. He wonders: are there greater goods to strive for in this life? And even: does God exist? What would He want for and from me [Alec]?
The horn is about to sound. The lights are still glowing and flashing as Alec’s thoughts stir anxiously. Is there a path he must choose? “Beeeeeeeep.”Alec instinctively digs his poles into the snow, propelling his body down the mountain with gusto. What happens next? Does he fall and injure himself in a way that corresponds with whatever realizations he comes to, providing readers with a clear-cut “moral of the story”? Does the author (moi!!) emphasize Alec’s internal experience of the championship race, which symbolically reveals that life is about the journey, man. That Alec’s worrying about whether one path or way of thinking is more meaningful than the other is not necessary; how can it not be right to pursue your passions completely in an effort to live a fulfilling life? …But even in light of the tragic suffering of the world?
Maybe instead, the [ridiculously good-looking] author of this short story decides to leave readers with a cliffhanger. Perhaps Alec wins the race by a ton or by a hair; or he loses the race. And then the story ends describing the scenery: the look on Alec’s face; Alec’s subsequent comments to reporters; Alec’s gaze into the dually meaningful sun…his “tender gaze, congenial smile and graceful gait”? (The steel-cut oatmeal churning in his stomach since 5 a.m.?) Does Alec still fit the image of both a Viking and a saint if he dedicates his life completely and entirely to his newly rediscovered passion for extreme skiing? Does this matter at all—in terms of the hypothetical storyline and/or in some different, transcendent meaning of the story?
It’s 4:19 p.m. on a Friday and work is slow!!! Now I understand why authors (and “seekers”) often employ deus ex machina endings to their stories and questions. It’s hard to stay engaged when wrestling with life’s complexities. Example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZ0epRjfGLw.
…..#weirdestpostever
#iwonderifanyonewilleverreadthis
#31moreminutesleft!!!
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