I think it relates to previous posts of mine such as: Remember, Censorship, Out on a Limb, and Anxiety & Irresponsibility among others
And also Silas post Stories Collide Pt.1
And Danielle's Shake it like you mean it!
And also Silas post Stories Collide Pt.1
And Danielle's Shake it like you mean it!
we are mixtures of light and shadow
the hidden and revealed
both to ourselves and to others
we are both exposed and concealed
I was struck tonight by the vast number of ways I identify myself. Some of these identities are in conflict or at least seem to be. Many of the nuances of reality are simplified for various reasons. For example I am both proud and ashamed to identify as Scottish, part of my family heritage for which I am named and have since tatooed onto my body forcing the issue into conversation more than I really intended. I am in reality much more dominantly Dutch. However, when I did not receive the tall genes of my father and opa this became a sore point more than a source of pride or identity. I am defined precisely in paradox.
What makes up our identity? We are a blender of nature, nurture, context, culture, history, tradition, narrative, and genetics... We are simultaneously unique and deeply connected. The book Beauty of the Lillies by John Updike, which I just finished reading highlights the intergenerational quality of the story of our lives. We are born into a story, continue it and pass it on... I think the Bible also highlights this intergenerational narrative of our lives of faith. "I am the God of you forefathers: Abraham, Isaac and Jacob" declares Yahweh...
I try and situate myself in a intergenerational narrative: I am the fourth generation of film maker/photographer, following my father, opa and my opa's father. I am the fourth generation of my mother's family to worship God on the west coast of BC, following my mother, grandmother and great grandparents. It is this point that is interesting because it highlights the way we shape and mould our stories and identity. The way we edit. What we choose to reveal or hide, either by omission or intentional concealment. I rarely share my family's west coast history. This is at least in part because I am only minimally familiar with it and those who held this piece of my heritage died when I was young. My mother grew up in Sarnia and moved "home" to Victoria in her teens. My dad was born in Vancouver, but grew up all across America and in Holland, moving back to BC for University. British Columbia holds a gravity for my family that I tend to deny and have been trying to shake my whole life. I barely consider myself Canadian, identifying rather as European immigrant, having grown up on my Opa's stories of the Old Country, my Dad's stories of moped vacations in France, and my parents 6 month honeymoon of European travels. Stories held life and depth in contrast to the plastic and stick frame life of suburbia... My mother's father was born English and fought with the RAF in WWII. How I promote or demote these various facets of my life and many others deeply impact how I view myself and the story I find myself in. My dad's parents being still alive to participate and tell stories. This part of my history, therefore, has been in a bright spotlight for most of my life. This however, has cast into much deeper shadow, my mother's parents and family, shrouded in the silence of death. I find myself moving amongst the light and shadows of my own life desiring to explore and reveal parts and pasts hidden and to shade brighter spots. I am trying to both to understand and find my role in the intergenerational drama into which I have been born. Am I the heir to leap from amateur to professional in the photographic arts? I continue to try. Am I the exiled or prodigal son destined to return home to Europe? Or is escape to Europe merely another prodigal journey? Am I scholarly vindication of my frustrated grandfather, who didn't complete his Ph.D? With a family heritage of university education and teachers, education has been a value I was slow to embrace but now find that I love. Am I the white, educated, christian, suburban BC boy required to repent and and do penance for the sins of those before me responsible for residential schools and destruction of First Nations culture? Culture and history I share by direct family line and not only group association (I have at least one relative who taught in a school and my great grand father who worked for the government on reserves...)
I am unable to be seen completely by human eyes. Dark unknown spots and sins and shame merely shine brighter when revealed overpowering the rest. I experience my life as a frustrating puzzle with so many pieces I believe connect but I have lost the lid and cannot see the whole. I have moved more and more toward a desire for integration. All the jumbled pieces need to connect and as I search I find both connections and also more pieces... I feel like a tourist with amnesia searching through my suitcase trying to determine where I was supposed to go.
i cannot hide but with revealing
my revelation explicitly concealing
In my hiddenness I am most exposed
and in my nakedness remain unknown
Ok and now the theological question: How does God reveal himself in absence? Can God's presence be made known in absence? How? Why? etc.
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