Rent

I remember the tightness of my stomach when I pulled into the driveway of 1200 Hamilton Drive. Outside the car next to the carport were two men sitting on stairs leading up to the upstairs unit of the duplex.  They wore loose clothes and unwelcoming faces. One was wearing an undershirt and the other a buttoned shirt open exposing his copper chest. They sat smoking cigarettes.Their worn and dry eyes glared at me as I parked next to them. Their muscles were tense and their heads held slightly tilted back as if giving me an overall inspection. I could feel my throat dry up and my skin flare. I looked at them and then at my watch. With masked boldness, I rolled down the window and opened the car door from the outside (reminding myself again to replace the inside handle).

The leasing agent was running late.

They continued to watch me as I walked from the car to the brick wall which stood adjacent to the stairs. I averted their gaze in an apathetic manner. It was my only defense, apathy. I felt out of my element. I felt right at home. To pass time (among other things), I lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall.
The minute I did, " Oye guero. You looking for somebody?"
The sun was shining in my eyes. I followed their movements, sun exposed just as mine. I looked directly at the speaker. "Yes. I am." That was all I gave him.
Before I let any ideas muster in their minds (or mine) I decided to not continue to act suspiciously. I forced a smile and said, walking towards him, "La dueña. She is going to show me the downstairs unit." I lifted my pasty white hand and pointed my behind them at the door then pocketed my hands. "I'm Cooper." I said. I felt the sunlight warm my body to a sweat. The coolness of the AC now evaporated. The speaker, the man with the open shirt, reached into his back pocket and removed his crushed pack of discounted smokes and placed one in his mouth.

"I'm Ramon." He said and then lit up.
I ashed mine on my shoe.
"This is Jorge." Jorge kept silent but nodded to me. Before another word spoken, I heard a car engine behind me and turned to see an aged sedan parking next to mine. I could feel their eyes behind me shift from the back of my head to each other in some communicative way.
In tan colored and style-dated power suit, the landlady exited the car. She was just over fifty, it seemed, and was heavy with a wrinkling face and battered hands. The sunlight hides no one, I thought.She gave a glance to the men and then called to me, "Sorry I'm late." She wiped the sweat of her brow and swiftly passed by us chatting the entire way, "So your unit would be over here. Like I said it's a one bedroom. Simple, but nice." I departed the men, and they sat down and returned to their original discussion.

When I reached the woman, she was passing through keys on her key ring until she found a worn copper one. It was similar to the others, yet distinctively older and shapeless.

Only seconds after we entered, I didn't think about Ramon and Jorge. I was inspecting what would be my next habitat.

The unit was indeed small, but I was surprised at its purposed design to appear otherwise. Large glass sliding doors leading to the backyard poured sunlight on the linoleum floor. The light nearly covered half the living room. The kitchen had a bar which was chest high and wide, expanded the view from the front door to the back wall behind the cabinets. A small dining section was sanctioned at the far corner near the large glass doors. The landlady walked around and showed the place. I listened to almost nothing she said but nodded at the expected moments. I turned down the hall into the bedroom which was a standard square room with a large window facing the street.

I had seen all I needed to see. This was all there was to see.

Ramon and Jorge we no longer outside when I returned. But I would see them again very soon.
I got in my car and after turning the key several times, the engine started, and I drove to get lunch.

I called the lady after my food arrived and told her I wanted to move in.
"Seems like my kind of place." I said.

Nova Lox - A clothing tale by William and Sylvia

It was the way she entered the building that amazed him.

She entered wearing only one she. And it was pouring outside. It had been all morning. I didn't see her step out of a car or out of a bus. She must have been walking like this for some time. "Where is she coming from?" I thought. Our small gossiping town would have known who this girl is. I would have heard about her by now. She must be new.

She picked up her pace through the lobby and passed by the bench on which I sat.
Dripping the entire way. She walked straight and took long strides. She wasn't walking fast, but she seemed to have renown in each step.
And she didn't notice me at all.

She crossed the hall and stopped right in front of the building directory. Her brunette head bobbed with its short above the shoulder hair cut.With her short, thin finger she ran through the lists of names and finally stopped on one highlighted in green. "Green" I thought, "that's one of the architects." It was at that moment exactly that a man on the second floor walked to the edge of the balcony and drop a box.

A shoe box.
There was a slam, and the he called out, "Kora!"

The woman stopped, turned her head gently, and found the shoe box that sat on the floor between us. I remained opposite of her near the front doors and she alongside the red oak doors on the western wall. She looked at the box and then lifted her eyes and looked at me. For a moment, it frightened me. That was, until she smiled and said, "Hi. I'm Kora." "Uh..um..hi" I stammered. "I noticed you've been eyeing me. Can I help you?" "Sorry no." I felt incredibly uncomfortable. "I just saw you walk in here, wet, and with one shoe." She was quick and returned with, "My mom always told me to make a grande entrance." She made a gesture with her hands to demonstrate "grande" and by doing this sprinkled more of the outside rain on the tile.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I asked. "What do you do here, Kora?" She walked rather dramatically towards the box. One might even say her walk was flirtatious. She swung her hips slightly and her movement ebbed and flowed as if to a Miles tune.

To be truthful, she looked childish.

She wore one show, was dripping water, and doing a strange dance with her walk. "Why," she answered, "I have given you my name and I don't know yours. That's kind of rude." And then gave me a raised eyebrow and half a smile. "I'm John Kritz Fraiser." "Wow, so formal. Fraiser, what is that? German?" "Dutch, actually." And then she said, "Ah, well. Oui oui!" I don't think she had any clue of what Europe looked like.

Kora held the box in her hands and walked towards the bench, box in her hands. I could see whoever dropped the box was still waiting for her to open it. His shadow lingered behind his red curtained office. She reached the bench and planted herself in it.

When she opened the box, I felt a great rift in our conversation. She was now sharing a moment with the man upstairs and not with me. There was a ruffle of the red curtains in his office.

He was watching her.

In the shoe box was indeed one red high heel shoe; identical to the one she was wearing. As she placed it on her foot we returned to our conversation.


FIN

The truer version of heaven and that other place

In Revelations 4, we see John getting a picture of heaven before his death. He witnesses the magnificence of the Center of all Life. All Life flows out from this Center and without this entity there is only death.

When people think about hell for the first time, most imagine a scene like this.
A man lives a relatively good life, but not perfect. He tries to treat others as he would treat himself. He has a lingering sense of guilt over some things he has done and is sorry he has hurt some people and not lived up to the standard of "perfection".

He dies and stands before God.
God looks at him and says, "Well, you were pretty good overall but we can't excuse these few sins here. I am perfect and require perfection, but because you couldn't attain it (even though you may have tried), your judgement is hell."

Then we see the man on his hands and knees,
"Oh please, Lord! Please forgive me! I didn't mean to do those things! I don't want to go to that nasty burning fire place when there is a beautiful city with gold and pleasure and happiness up there! Please forgive me!"
And God says to him, "Sorry, you had your chance." Then he hits a gavel, and the trap door the man had been standing on gives way, and he falls into that terrible place we all fear.

This is not at all what the real story looks like.
Let's look at this analogy and dissect it.

First, the man.

We sympathize with him because we all are aware that we cannot be perfect. There is no human that lives a life of no mistakes. We thus have a view of God that he is unjust.
"He meant well!" - we may say
But see, this man had no interest in God. He just wanted to be kind and caring to other people. He wanted to be in heaven because the gold was there, because happiness was there. This life is difficult enough, can't we receive even just a bit of happiness after we die?
See, he had no interest in God. He had interest in his reputation with other people and his reputation with himself.

Second, the God.

Everybody knows God has a perfect standard. That is why people think they are "better" than others when they do a "perfect" job. They believe they are closer to the center of what is true, what is right, and what is lovely. They believe they are more "godly".
But the God of this story has no room for mercy. This God treats man worse than we would treat man. If we think God is unjust and we are the one's just, then he wouldn't be God. We would. He would not be "godly", we would be godly. His way would be wrong and our way would be right. Thus this idea of God collapses on itself. He can't be God if we are more right than he is. He would be a tyrant who doesn't get what life is all about (even thought he created it).

Thirdly, heaven and hell.

The reward of heaven is not gold and jewels and gourmet food and the best wine and sunny days et. The reward of heaven is Jesus Christ. The whole doctrine of Christianity is based on that. The idea that we go to heaven to get "things" is not Christian based at all. It's pagan based. Frankly, it's American based. Very few cultures are vain enough to think happiness forever more are in physical tangible objects. (Perhaps happiness for you would be seeing your relatives, but even then your chief interest is in people and not in Jesus). Being with Jesus is the reward of heaven. If you despise and think so flippantly of Jesus now, what makes you think you will enjoy heaven? Heaven for you will not be happiness, it will be terrible!
Hell therefore is not a place where you lack any pleasures, it is a place where you can be everything you wanted to be in this life. Your own god.
But you cannot be your own god and have happiness and joy. Life is only found with the life-source.

So what is the real story?

When we stand before God, we will either be welcomed into heaven or sent to that other place not based on what we have done (because Christians come to Christ as messed up [more frequently even more messed up] as non christians), but based on what we have done with Jesus.

What have you done with the Jesus of the Bible?
Is your heart inclined to him? If so, you will see glimpses or full demonstration of this inclination. You will follow him. You will make mistakes, but there is repentance and forgiveness.
If you have no thoughts of him or want nothing to do with him, what does that say?