skipping rocks, prophetic coffeeshops

the Hillel @ Longbeach blogsite, aptly called Surphology Headquarters, has me listed in their links. If you hover, yes hover, over kosher confessions, it'll say "funny, straightfoward, and local." it's nice, and reaffirming to know that i'm writing something of value, though lately i feel that my posts have become too self-indulgent to reach anyone else but you few dedicated readers out there, as if i'm constantly searching for reinforcement of my decisions and opening the window to my soul wider and wider, letting everyone in but never venturing further outward than the comfort zone of my apartment in goleta.

thus, i give you some personal insight into my current situation and reflections on life, and where it's taken and taking me, in earnest hopes that it just might resonate with you.

i bought asics gel shoes last week, and started running. 3 miles, 5 miles, today i ran an even six i believe, driving to the beach then running near my house, strangely. i stopped for a second, staring at the marvelous santa barbarian ocean, skipped some rocks...soft ones barely made a dent, medium sized ones that skipped quite nicely, and huge mommas and poppas that landed with a sad, thick crash onto the seabed. and in epiphanic fashion I realized that I don't want to be a big rock, don't want to be handcuffed to some job, some destination, some thing that I don't enjoy. I want to be mobile. i want to make a few dents, no, more than a few, a lot of serious dents and ripples in the ocean, and rest on the sand until another wave comes, when i can find a new home, then get picked up and float on, just like a modest mouse. that's who i am, a mighty modest mouse, ready to kick ass. or a a grizzly bear=aggressive, yet charming, smooth, but will rip your balls off. and maybe tear your heart out.

i met this guy in a coffeeshop. an old man. my ability to meet and connect immediately with ppl sometimes scares ppl..its funny. it's not uncommon for me to go get food or coffee or the market with a friend, say 'i'll be right out', then need to get pulled away from said friend because im talking to the mexican stockman about where he's from and how italian and spanish are the same, or the liquor store owner and his experience immigrating from tehran, or the girl (it comes in handy, this skill, oh wise one) who is wearing pink socks and finding out she knows so and so who knows so and so from santa barbara and then we make plans to go the getty.

again, we are sidetracked. =)

so this fool, dressed in a cardigan, gives me half his paper...we start talkin, he worked as a PE teacher, volleyball, and incorporated japanese teknique in his classrooms. tells me i should become a teacher. or do business and teach on the side. [[[ god, i am confused. really god, if you're out there, listening, shed some light or open a window that's been closed and help me find what i'm looking for, because its dark and i don't have the right kind of batteries for my flashlight. ]]]

i get up to leave. teddy shakes my hand. "it's an honor" he says. "no, the honor is mine." i leave, pondering. was it really? who was that, some therisias, telling me that i'm on the right track, or on the right platform and need to get on the train because it's leaving? what? what is an "honor?" why was it an honor? it felt good, but no way did i earn it. it seemed uniquely prophetic, like we were meant to meet and maybe i AM supposed to earn his honor, his judgement, his approval.

i'm trying. i'm trying. im trying im trying imtryingimtryingimtrying isweartoyou i am trying to be a better man. just look.