Audible Link

Die purpurnen Flüsse ist das vielleicht bekannteste Buch von Jean-Christophe Grangé, wohl auch, weil es davon eine relativ erfolgreiche Verfilmung gibt.

Der Film hat die Geschichte aber an vielen Stellen angepasst und nur selten zum Besseren. Das Buch hingegen erzählt eine packende Geschichte mit grossartigen Charakteren. Und die erstklassige Vertonung von Lübbe Audio lässt das Geschehen noch lebendiger, noch intensiver wirken.

Die Geschichte

Die Purpurnen Flüsse ist der erste Roman in dem der archetypische Grangé Charakter auftaucht; ein Polizist mit kaputtem Hintergrund. Dieser Hintergrund treibt ihn zu grosser Brutalität und fragwürdigen Entscheidungen, dafür erzielt er aber Resultate. Solche Charaktere werden in kommenden Werken des französischen Autors immer wieder auftauchen, hier erhalten wir ihn gleich im Doppelpack.

Dabei sind beide Männer, Pierre Niémans wie auch Karim Abdouf, sehr interessante Charaktere. Zweiteren lernen zudem wir über eine spannende Erzählung seines Hintergrunds kennen.

Pierre Niémans ermittelt in einer Universitätsstadt in den Alpen, nahe von Grenoble. Hier ist ein brutaler und mysteriöser Mord passiert. Die zahlreichen und grausamen Verletzungen und Verstümmelungen der Leiche werden, ebenfalls typisch für die Werke von Jean-Christophe Grangé, ausführlich beschrieben.

Die Suche nach dem Täter führt schier Unglaubliches zu Tage. Die Verbrechen sind unvorstellbar und die Verfolgung und Aufdeckung sehr spannend.

Die Vertonung

Gelesen wird das Buch von Joachim Kerzel, der vielen Grangé Büchern seine Stimme leiht und dabei immer einen super Job macht. Auch hier überzeugt er. Es ist jederzeit klar erkennbar welche Person gerade spricht, sich Gedanken macht oder ob wir dem Erzähler lauschen.

Die wahre Stärke von Kerzel liegt aber darin, die Emotionen der Personen zu vermitteln. Oft spielt er die Charaktere mehr als dass er den Text vorliesst.

Und dazu komm dann der eigentliche Clou der Lübbe Audio Vertonungen: Die Geschichte wird mit Geräuschen und mit Musik unterlegt. Damit gehen sie einen Schritt in Richtung Hörspiel, insgesamt ist das Werk aber immer noch klar als Hörbuch zu verstehen.

Die Musik ist passend gewählt und hilft die Szenen lebendiger wirken zu lassen. Den Trick kennt man aus Filmen, wo die allgegenwärtige Hintergrundmusik dem Zuschauer stets vermittelt wie er sich zu fühlen hat. Dieses Konzept wurde hier in ein Hörbuch übertragen — mit grossen Erfolg.

Das Ganze ist wirklich sehr gelungen und gibt dem Hörbuch eine zusätzliche, nicht zu unterschätzende, Dimension.

Für wen ist es?

Die purpurnen Flüsse sind nicht zu Unrecht das bekannteste Werk von Jean-Christophe Grangé. Es bietet sowohl starke Charaktere als auch eine fesselnde Geschichte. Wer spannende Kriminalromane mag, der wird von dem Buch begeistert sein. Dazu die super Vertonung, die mit der Integration von Soundeffekten und Musik für ein super Hörerlebnis sorgt.

Einzig wer ausführliche Schilderungen von Gewalt und Verletzungen nicht mag, sollte davon absehen, das Buch zu hören. In anderen Werken des Autors sind die Verletzungen zwar noch brutaler und die Beschreibungen noch ausführlicher, leichte Kost ist aber auch das hier nicht.

There is a quiet fear that follows many people through life, and it sounds like this: if I were stronger, I would be useful; if I were smoother, I would be chosen; if I were flawless, I would be trusted. It is the fear that weakness disqualifies, that imperfection postpones destiny, that hesitation cancels calling. It is the belief that God searches for polished vessels and passes over cracked ones. Yet Scripture and history together tell a very different story. Again and again, the pattern is unmistakable. God does not begin with perfection. He begins with surrender. He does not search for flawless voices. He speaks through trembling ones.

When Moses stood before the burning bush, the ground beneath him was holy, but his heart was uncertain. He had fled Egypt decades earlier. He had buried a past mistake in the sand and built a quieter life in the wilderness. Then God interrupted that quiet with a commission that would alter history. He was to confront Pharaoh, demand freedom for enslaved people, and shepherd a nation through the unknown. It was a calling that required public speech, bold confrontation, relentless leadership. Moses did not answer with confidence. He answered with insecurity. He said he was slow of speech and tongue. He was not eloquent. He was not naturally persuasive. In his own mind, he was not the man for the moment.

It is easy to read that story quickly and miss its humanity. Moses was not offering poetic humility. He was confessing a genuine struggle. He knew what it felt like to open his mouth and have words hesitate. He knew the humiliation of not sounding the way he wished he sounded. He knew that in a culture where oratory carried authority, he did not feel equipped. He assumed that God’s assignment required a flawless instrument.

God’s response did not remove the weakness. It reframed it. Who made man’s mouth? That question carries thunder within it. It declares sovereignty over ability and limitation alike. It asserts that weakness is not an accident outside divine awareness. Moses’ insecurity was not news to God. It was already accounted for. The calling was issued with full knowledge of the flaw.

That truth alone dismantles the lie that perfection precedes purpose. If God waited for flawless vessels, the Exodus would never have happened. The Red Sea would have remained closed. The law would not have been delivered. A nation would have remained in chains. The hesitation of one man could have altered history, but God did not withdraw the assignment when insecurity surfaced. He promised presence. He provided Aaron as support. He chose partnership over replacement.

Thousands of years later, a boy in Florida struggled with words. Illness had left him with a severe stutter. Conversations were battlegrounds. Sentences were obstacles. That boy grew into a man who would one day step onto stages across America. When he spoke, the stutter was there. Words repeated. Sounds stretched. Pauses lingered. Yet when he sang, the stutter vanished. Melody carried what ordinary speech could not. Rhythm organized what anxiety disrupted. That man was Mel Tillis. He did not hide his stutter. He made peace with it. He joked about it. He let audiences see it. Then he sang with confidence and power. His imperfection did not repel listeners. It endeared them. His weakness became part of his witness.

There is something profound in the fact that singing activates different pathways in the brain than speech. Music bypasses certain blocks. Rhythm steadies the tongue. It is as if melody becomes a bridge across insecurity. Moses had Aaron. Mel Tillis had melody. In both cases, the weakness remained visible, but it did not remain victorious. The flaw did not have the final word.

History offers more examples than many realize. James Earl Jones, whose voice would one day become synonymous with strength and authority, barely spoke as a child because his stutter was so severe. For years he retreated into silence. A teacher encouraged him to read poetry aloud, to let rhythm guide him, to let cadence shape his confidence. That practice slowly unlocked fluency. The boy who once feared speaking became one of the most recognizable voices in cinematic history. Winston Churchill struggled with speech difficulties and labored meticulously over his addresses, practicing them repeatedly. The speeches that steadied Britain during war were not the product of effortless eloquence but disciplined perseverance. Even in modern politics and entertainment, individuals who once avoided speaking in classrooms have become communicators before nations.

The pattern is clear. The weakness did not eliminate the calling. The calling transformed the relationship with the weakness.

This pattern echoes through Scripture beyond Moses. David was anointed king while still a shepherd, yet his life would include moral failure, betrayal, grief, and personal collapse. Peter walked on water and denied Christ within the span of a few chapters. Paul carried what he described as a thorn in the flesh, something persistent and humbling that he pleaded with God to remove. The answer he received was not removal but sufficiency. Grace was declared sufficient. Power was declared perfect in weakness.

That phrase alone overturns modern assumptions. Power perfected in weakness contradicts every worldly metric. Culture celebrates polish, charisma, seamless delivery. Faith honors surrender, dependence, obedience. The world applauds confidence rooted in self. Heaven responds to confidence rooted in God.

Consider how many destinies remain dormant because individuals are waiting to feel ready. Readiness, as we often define it, means the absence of fear, the disappearance of doubt, the removal of limitation. Yet Scripture consistently portrays readiness differently. Readiness is availability. It is the willingness to step forward while aware of inadequacy. It is obedience that moves despite trembling.

Moses did not become articulate overnight. He grew through obedience. Confidence developed in motion. Leadership was forged in wilderness and confrontation. The Red Sea did not part because his speech was flawless. It parted because he raised his staff in obedience. The miracle responded to faith, not fluency.

Mel Tillis did not wait until his stutter vanished before performing. He performed with it. Audiences did not demand perfection. They responded to authenticity. His vulnerability became strength because it revealed courage. Courage is not the absence of struggle. It is movement within it.

There is also a spiritual dimension that must not be overlooked. Weakness keeps pride in check. If Moses had been naturally eloquent, perhaps he might have been tempted to attribute deliverance to his own persuasion. If David had been morally flawless, perhaps he would never have written psalms of repentance that comfort generations. If Paul had been without thorn, perhaps he would have boasted in his achievements rather than in grace. Weakness, while painful, often protects the soul from arrogance.

Modern believers wrestle with insecurities that mirror ancient ones. Some struggle with anxiety that tightens the chest and scrambles thoughts. Some wrestle with depression that dims motivation. Some feel intellectually inadequate in conversations about faith. Some stumble over words when trying to articulate belief. The assumption creeps in that others are better equipped, more articulate, more stable, more worthy. Yet the biblical narrative refuses that assumption. God’s pattern is not to select the obvious favorite. It is to reveal strength through surrender.

There is something sacred about a person who admits limitation and still says yes. There is a beauty in trembling obedience that polished performance cannot replicate. Authenticity carries authority because it is rooted in truth. When people see vulnerability and faith coexist, they recognize something real.

The church was never designed to be a museum of perfected saints. It was meant to be a hospital of redeemed sinners. It was never meant to display flawless leaders but forgiven ones. The power of the Gospel lies not in human impressiveness but in divine grace. The cross itself stands as the ultimate paradox. What appeared to be weakness became victory. What seemed like defeat became redemption. God’s greatest act of salvation emerged through apparent vulnerability.

If the cross teaches anything, it teaches that God does not fear weakness. He redeems it.

Moses’ stutter did not surprise God. Mel Tillis’ speech impediment did not prevent his platform. James Earl Jones’ silence did not dictate his destiny. Weakness did not disqualify them. It shaped them. It humbled them. It deepened them.

It is worth asking how many people silence themselves unnecessarily. How many decline opportunities because they do not sound like someone else. How many hide gifts because delivery feels imperfect. How many postpone obedience because insecurity feels louder than calling. The tragedy is not weakness itself. The tragedy is allowing weakness to dictate surrender to fear rather than surrender to God.

There is a difference between surrendering to insecurity and surrendering insecurity to God. The first shrinks. The second grows. The first hides. The second steps forward. Moses initially leaned toward the first. He asked God to send someone else. That is the instinct of insecurity. Yet God’s persistence revealed something greater. He would not let Moses retreat permanently. He promised presence. He promised partnership. He promised purpose.

Presence matters more than polish. When God says, I will be with you, that assurance outweighs eloquence. It is divine companionship that empowers trembling leaders. It is grace that steadies shaking voices.

In the modern world, where social media amplifies comparison and perfection appears effortless, the temptation to self-disqualify intensifies. Carefully curated lives create the illusion that others move without struggle. Yet behind microphones and platforms, many who speak with clarity once wrestled with silence. Behind leadership roles often stand stories of insecurity. Behind confident sermons often lie private battles.

This reality does not diminish the power of their voices. It enhances it. Struggle breeds empathy. Insecurity cultivates humility. Weakness teaches dependence. Those qualities are fertile soil for spiritual authority.

When Moses returned to Egypt, he did not go alone. Aaron spoke alongside him initially. Over time, Moses grew in boldness. Leadership matured. Faith deepened. What began as insecurity evolved into courage shaped by divine faithfulness. Growth rarely occurs in isolation from calling. It unfolds within it.

Mel Tillis’ story also reveals adaptation. He did not deny his stutter. He found rhythm within it. Music became a vehicle for expression. There is wisdom in that. Weakness does not demand denial. It invites creativity. It invites reliance on different strengths. It invites humility.

This principle extends beyond speech impediments. Whatever the struggle may be, it can become soil for growth rather than ground for retreat. Anxiety can cultivate reliance on prayer. Doubt can drive deeper study. Failure can birth compassion. Physical limitation can awaken spiritual resilience. The very thing that appears as obstacle may serve as teacher.

God’s economy is different from ours. He does not waste scars. He does not discard flawed vessels. He restores and repurposes. He writes redemption into broken stories. The stutter becomes the sermon. The thorn becomes the testimony. The weakness becomes the window through which grace shines brightest.

Imagine standing before Pharaoh with a stutter. Imagine stepping onto a stage knowing words may hesitate. Imagine reading poetry aloud after years of silence. Each scenario requires courage. Each scenario demands trust that weakness will not have the final word. That trust is faith.

Faith is not the absence of insecurity. It is obedience in its presence. It is the decision to move when comfort is absent. It is confidence not in self but in the One who calls.

There is freedom in embracing this truth. It releases the pressure to perform flawlessly. It redirects focus from self-assessment to obedience. It replaces the exhausting pursuit of perfection with the steady pursuit of faithfulness.

If Moses teaches anything, he teaches that God does not call the equipped; He equips the called. If Mel Tillis teaches anything, he teaches that authenticity resonates more deeply than polish. If history teaches anything, it teaches that voices forged in struggle often carry the most weight.

The question is not whether weakness exists. It is whether weakness will dictate retreat or deepen reliance. The stutter can become silence, or it can become a story of perseverance. The insecurity can become paralysis, or it can become prayer.

The narrative of Scripture consistently invites the latter. It invites individuals to bring inadequacy into God’s presence rather than hiding it from Him. It invites honesty over pretense. It invites surrender over self-protection.

As this truth unfolds across generations, one sees a legacy forming. Imperfect people stepping into purpose. Hesitant voices speaking truth. Broken individuals carrying hope. The pattern remains unbroken.

And this pattern continues today in ways both public and unseen. In classrooms where a child struggles to read aloud yet refuses to give up. In churches where a believer shares testimony despite trembling hands. In workplaces where someone advocates for integrity even while fearing rejection. In homes where parents lead imperfectly but faithfully.

Weakness has never been the barrier many imagine it to be. Pride has been a greater obstacle. Self-reliance has caused more damage than stuttering ever could. God’s strength rests comfortably upon humility.

The miracle of Moses was not that he became eloquent. It was that he became obedient. The triumph of Mel Tillis was not that his stutter vanished completely. It was that he sang anyway. The power of countless others lies not in flawless beginnings but in faithful perseverance.

When insecurity no longer defines destiny, a person begins to move differently through the world. The internal dialogue shifts. Instead of asking, “What is wrong with me?” the question becomes, “What might God do through me?” That shift is not subtle. It alters posture, tone, decision, and direction. It does not erase weakness, but it refuses to let weakness rule.

Moses’ life after the burning bush was not free from difficulty. He faced resistance from Pharaoh, complaints from the people he led, and moments of deep personal frustration. There were times he felt overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility. There were moments when he cried out to God in exhaustion. Yet at no point did God say, “Your speech issue has disqualified you.” The stutter was never revisited as a disqualifier. It was overshadowed by obedience. It was absorbed into calling.

There is something deeply instructive in that. Often, the weakness we obsess over fades in significance once we step into purpose. It does not disappear entirely, but it no longer dominates the narrative. Action diminishes the volume of insecurity. Obedience reduces the echo of doubt.

Mel Tillis understood this intuitively. He did not wait for a flawless voice before standing on stage. He walked into the spotlight as he was. He allowed audiences to see his humanity. When he sang, the fluency astonished people because it contrasted with his spoken hesitations. That contrast amplified the gift. The struggle made the strength more visible.

Contrast creates clarity. Without weakness, strength can appear ordinary. Without vulnerability, courage seems automatic. Without struggle, success can feel impersonal. It is the visible humanity that makes victory compelling.

The same pattern appears in Scripture repeatedly. When David faced Goliath, he did so not as a seasoned warrior but as a shepherd boy. His lack of military pedigree highlighted divine intervention. When Gideon went to battle with a drastically reduced army, the numerical weakness made the victory unmistakably God’s. When Paul wrote about his thorn, he reframed it as a canvas for grace. Each story reveals the same truth: God’s strength shines most clearly against the backdrop of human limitation.

This principle challenges modern metrics of influence. In a culture that prizes seamless performance, the idea that weakness could enhance authority feels counterintuitive. Yet history supports it. Winston Churchill’s speeches were powerful not because they were effortless but because they were forged in discipline and urgency. The fact that he labored over delivery adds weight to the words. James Earl Jones’ commanding voice carries greater impact when one knows it emerged from years of silence and struggle. Authenticity intensifies authority.

In spiritual life, authenticity is indispensable. Faith that acknowledges struggle is more resilient than faith that pretends invulnerability. When believers admit doubt, they create space for growth. When leaders confess weakness, they cultivate trust. When testimony includes scars, it resonates more deeply.

This does not mean glorifying weakness for its own sake. It means recognizing that weakness is not an enemy of calling. It can be a companion in growth. It can guard against pride. It can foster empathy. It can refine character.

Consider how many psalms were born from David’s distress. Without betrayal, there would be no lament. Without guilt, there would be no psalm of repentance. Without fear, there would be no cry for refuge. Those ancient prayers continue to comfort millions precisely because they were written from places of vulnerability. Perfection would have produced sterile poetry. Brokenness produced sacred song.

Mel Tillis’ stutter, like Moses’ hesitation, humanized them. It made their stories accessible. It dismantled the illusion that greatness requires flawlessness. It revealed that purpose coexists with imperfection.

There is also an important psychological dimension here. When individuals confront weakness rather than conceal it, resilience develops. Avoidance strengthens fear. Exposure weakens it. Every time Moses spoke before Pharaoh, courage increased incrementally. Every time Mel Tillis addressed an audience, confidence expanded. Repetition builds strength. Action rewires hesitation.

This aligns with spiritual growth. Faith grows through practice. Courage strengthens through use. Obedience reinforces trust. Waiting for fear to vanish before acting guarantees stagnation. Acting in faith gradually reduces fear’s control.

Many people misinterpret weakness as a sign that they are outside God’s will. In reality, weakness may be the very terrain where God intends to display His faithfulness. Paul’s words echo through centuries: grace is sufficient. That sufficiency is not theoretical. It is experienced in moments when self-reliance fails. It is discovered when resources feel inadequate. It is revealed when ability seems insufficient.

Moses discovered grace sufficient for leadership. Mel Tillis discovered grace sufficient for performance. James Earl Jones discovered grace sufficient for expression. Each story testifies that limitation is not the end of narrative.

There is something almost poetic in imagining Moses standing at the edge of the Red Sea. The people behind him were panicking. Pharaoh’s army approached. The sea stretched out before them. At that moment, eloquence was irrelevant. What mattered was obedience. God instructed him to lift his staff. The waters parted. The miracle did not hinge on flawless speech. It hinged on faithful action.

This is liberating. It means that the decisive moments of life do not depend on perfect delivery but on responsive trust. When faced with daunting assignments, the question is not, “Can I execute flawlessly?” but, “Will I obey faithfully?”

In the modern world, this applies far beyond public speaking. The entrepreneur who fears failure must decide whether insecurity will halt innovation. The parent who feels inadequate must decide whether self-doubt will overshadow love. The believer who struggles to articulate theology must decide whether hesitation will silence testimony. In each case, weakness can either paralyze or propel.

Faith reframes weakness as opportunity for reliance. Instead of hiding imperfection, it brings it into conversation with God. It says, “Here is my limitation. Work through it.” That posture invites partnership. It mirrors Moses’ journey from reluctance to resolve.

There is also communal significance in this truth. When individuals share stories of overcoming insecurity, they grant permission for others to step forward. Mel Tillis’ openness about his stutter likely encouraged countless others who struggled similarly. James Earl Jones’ testimony about silence becoming voice inspires those who feel unheard. These stories ripple outward, multiplying courage.

The church benefits when weakness is acknowledged rather than masked. Communities thrive when members understand that struggle does not disqualify belonging. Transparency fosters connection. Shared vulnerability dismantles isolation. Imperfect people gathered around a perfect Savior create a powerful witness.

The legacy of Moses extends beyond the Exodus. It includes the law, the wilderness journey, the shaping of a people. Yet that legacy began with hesitation. The legacy of Mel Tillis extends beyond awards and performances. It includes inspiration for those battling insecurity. That legacy was born from perseverance. The legacies of others who overcame stutters or speech impediments are not merely about eloquence. They are about resilience.

Legacy, then, is not built on flawlessness but on faithfulness over time. It is the cumulative effect of repeated obedience despite limitation. It is the long arc of surrender shaping character.

There is a profound humility required to accept that weakness may remain even as purpose unfolds. Moses did not become a flawless communicator. He became a faithful leader. Mel Tillis did not erase his stutter entirely. He learned to sing and speak with courage. The thorn Paul described was not removed. Grace sustained him.

This challenges the assumption that growth always means eradication of struggle. Sometimes growth means learning to carry struggle with grace. Sometimes maturity means discovering strength within limitation rather than outside it.

The image of the stutter becoming the sermon captures this beautifully. The very thing that once felt like embarrassment becomes evidence of transformation. The obstacle becomes altar. The hesitation becomes testimony. The crack becomes conduit for light.

In a world obsessed with curated perfection, this message is countercultural and deeply needed. It reminds individuals that authenticity is not weakness. It is strength rooted in truth. It assures them that God’s calling is not contingent upon flawless presentation. It invites them to step forward as they are.

If Moses had waited for eloquence, Israel might have remained enslaved. If Mel Tillis had waited for flawless speech, countless songs would have remained unsung. If James Earl Jones had embraced silence permanently, iconic performances would not exist. The cost of surrendering to insecurity is unseen potential.

Conversely, the reward of trusting God through weakness is profound. It includes growth, impact, legacy, and intimacy with the One who calls. Dependence deepens relationship. Struggle cultivates humility. Obedience builds history.

When insecurity whispers that you are not enough, remember the burning bush. Remember the stage lights. Remember the silent classroom transformed into poetic recitation. Remember that God’s pattern has never required perfection first.

He calls. He accompanies. He empowers.

The stutter may remain, but it no longer rules. The insecurity may linger, but it no longer dictates destiny. The weakness may persist, but it becomes a platform for grace.

And that is the heart of the legacy: imperfect people, surrendered to a perfect God, stepping into purpose with trembling faith and discovering that grace is indeed sufficient.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

Recent experience has shown that my schedule (and I'm SUCH a creature of habit!) works best when my night's game to follow is an early one. Tonight I find two early games, both of them NCAA women's basketball games, and both with 5:00 PM CT scheduled start times: SMU Mustangs at North Carolina Tar Heels, and Syracuse Orange at Pittsburgh Panthers. Without a personal attachment to any of these four teams, I'll simply listen to the call of the game provided by the first, strong streaming feed I can pull in.

Hmm... I wonder which game I'll listen to tonight?

And the adventure continues.

Last week I wrote encountering music, singing along, and even quiet reflection while listening as a form of prayer and practice. This week I want to continue that thread with the idea of using headphones to listen to guided meditations through an app or website. There are many of these tools available, some specifically religious in tone, others more secular, and some a mix of those two modes. I have found both for myself and for many of the people I work with, finding deep silence and stillness in the midst of a busy day is hard.

On vacation, or on retreat, or even while we are traveling long distance often creates enough distance from the noise of our daily environment to pause and be reflective. There can even be moments of genuine presence and simply consenting to the power of that moment. At home, at work, in the throes of our daily obligations, it can be hard to create that moment of pause and just be.

There are a lot of sites and tools, some of which only really function with a paid subscription, others of which are free, and still others that offer a pay-what-you-can donation model. I haven’t tried or vetted every one of these tools, but I will offer a starting list for you to explore, and then I’ll speak about three that I do use with some regularity.

I offer these tools with the caveat of my learning from David A Treleaven, author of Trauma-Sensitive Mindfulness, that meditation is not a substitute for comprehensive mental health care,and that for people with histories of trauma and complex trauma, silent meditation can actually exacerbate symptoms of traumatic recall. There are a lot of wonderful adaptations in the book, and I’d recommend you review them with your therapist or psychiatrist as well as any meditation instructor you work with.

Headspace

Anchored for the most part in a Buddhist mindfulness framework, Headspace is a great tool for beginners learning how to meditate. There are so many exercises to try, from brief reflections for particular times of day, to breathing practices, and semi-guided periods of silent meditation as well. I have been using headspace off and on for about four years now thanks to a subscription that my employer has provided. I enjoy the short form recordings and videos, the breath-work, and even some of the guided meditations, though I have found things like topical webinars, multi-week courses, and the mood trackers less useful for my own practice.

Pray as You Go

This tool is offered by the Jesuit outreach ministry (cue religious order trope joke here) in the United Kingdom. Pray as You Go offers daily audio meditations that include sacred music, lectio divina or sacred reading where we listen to scripture in a prayerful and heartful way, and Ignatian imagination exercises where we are invited to use silent pauses to enter the story, relate to various characters and settings, and explore the passage “from the inside”. After a period of such reflection, the passage is read again, now illumined with our wondering, followed by a time of prayer and intercession for what has arisen during the meditation. The content changes daily, with the addition of an examination of consciousness on Saturday to shift to mode of practice reflection on the week’s prayers.

Centering Prayer

Offered by the good folks at Contemplative Outreach, the Centering Prayer app offers a simple way to engage in this very old practice that dates back to The Cloud of Unknowing, and was revived in the 1970’s and taught by Christian monastics like Thomas Keating and M. Basil Pennington.

The app provides the guidelines, an opening prayer to read, a gentle sound to help us relax into the silence, a timer for the silence, and a gentle sound to welcome us back. Afterwards there is a spot for a short closing prayer. This is minimally guided meditation, as the majority of the time is spent in silence, being heartfully open to what arises, while clinging to none of it. The mind and any thoughts are put compassionately to rest with the soft recall of a single sacred word that is an expression of consent to be in the presence of God. the cadence recommended for this particular practice is a morning and an evening session.

These three are a small but mighty sampling of the tools available for ways to pray with your headphones on. I appreciate the way that they help to muffle the sound of the environment for a moment or two, giving me the gracious pause that helps my practice to really breathe deep.

before I was born, life was a photograph of my parents in their late 30s: younger, skinny, sun‑kissed, sitting by the edge of a pool in the late afternoon holding my blond, chubby baby brother, little indicator finger pointing out to the sky. I hope that after I die, you'll all have the decency to return to that quiet stillness.

/feb26

Sometimes I go on Apple Maps to check random businesses in different cities. Doesn’t everybody? Several months ago, I found a small arts supply store called A Work of Heart in San Jose. Turns out, it was already going out of business and had to sell their entire inventory.

On their website, they were selling a few 12-pack boxes of Blackwing pencils. If you’re familiar with them, they’re great pencils but expensive ($30 for a 12-pack). The red Blackwing 746 pencil I’m using, I only bought one cause a 12-pack is even more expensive ($55 for a 12-pack).

Anyway, I bought a 12-pack of 602s for $20 before tax. What a deal! While it’s sad another mom and pop store had to close down at least I got a chance to help them out a tiny bit. I’ll make sure those Blackwing 602s are used well.

#pencil #artstore #Blackwing

Getting terminated from your job has its pros and cons. One pro is that if you have been trying to get out of your career field of almost two decades and have been dragging your feet, you instantly get a motivational boost (and extra time to act on it) like never before! Another pro is that you become eligible for unemployment compensation if you were fired without cause.

A layoff is “without cause”; and so is discrimination—> Your employer will not implicate itself in a continuous pattern of actions that are illegal/alegal by contesting your unemployment compensation claim. Some would say if your employer did something illegal, then you can file a complaint with the EEOC and/or sue them. Sounds simple? It absolutely is not. Legal battles are costly, time-consuming, and mentally exhausting—like fighting your Homeowners Association. On the other hand, getting unemployment compensation is relatively simple, unlike dealing with your Homeowners Association.

One of the cons of unemployment compensation is that no matter how much money you were previously making, the maximum amount you can qualify for in the state of Florida is $275 per week. That is $550 every two weeks which is how often you will receive the money when you “claim your weeks”. That is $1100 per month which equates to about $7 per hour if you were working a job. And that may pay your mortgage for the month, but you’re going to have to strip or sell a lil’ somethin’ to pay for the electricity, water, phone, internet, automobile, auto insurance, gas, food, toiletries, etc. Add being in the hole with your HOA putting a lien on your house, foreclosing on it, and then afterwards, fining you for your roof tarp. Yes, this all happened to me in one summer!

Unemployment compensation lasts no longer than three months. At that point, you take whatever job you can get and hope that you stick out amongst all the other 100+ people who applied to the same jobs on Facebook—I meant LinkedIn. Meanwhile, your HOA continues to harass you—kicking you while you are waaayyy down in a situation that they could have stopped from the very beginning. HOAs and their property management companies are not for the people, the homeowners. They are for business. And that business is your money.

「この前さ、お前が公園で、ただ立ってるのを見たんだ」

「声かけてよ」

「無理だよ。ほんとうに立ってるだけだったんだもん。スマホを触るとか、お茶を飲むとか、ベンチに座るとかしてたら、まだ人に見えるのに」

「今さ、金がなくて。持ってるもの全部止まってるんだよ。スマホが止まってんだ。飲み物なんて当然買えないし」

「じゃあせめて、ぼんやり座ってればよかったのに」

「ヘルニアでね」

「……悪かった」

「いや、気にすんなよ」

「でもさ、そんな立ってるだけで気が紛れるのか」

「紛れるよ。遠くで誰かの笑い声がほどけて、小さな靴音が落ち葉を踏んで消えていく感じとかさ」

「ん？」

「夕方の光って、どこか遠い場所から届いた手紙みたいでさ。少し遅れて世界を照らすんだよ」

「おい」

「ん？」

「お前、時間余りすぎて、だいぶ詩的になってきてるぞ」

「どうしよう」

「このままだと完全に詩人になる……」

「そんな脅威みたいに言うなよ」

「こんな夕方の公園にいたらダメだ」

「どこ行くんだよ」

「業務スーパーだよ。あそこからは風情が生まれない」

「酒、買ってくれ」

「いいよ」

その夜は俺の部屋で二人で飲んだ。 少しだけ、お前は詩人から戻ってきた。 けれど次に会うときには、きっとまた別の色に沈んでいる気がした。 灰色か、それとももっと静かな色か。

Desde pequeño he sido fan del juego, me encantaba jugar. Pasaba horas jugando con mis juguetes, inventando un lore y un guion con historias y desarrollos de personajes, con desenlaces, dramas y traiciones. Mi creatividad e imaginación estaban a flote. Y todas esas historias solo yo las conocía, y nadie más; eran para mí y solo para mí, el disfrute era permanente.

También dibujaba, creaba muchos personajes, héroes, antihéroes, villanos y secuaces. Practicaba mucho deporte, sobre todo fútbol, mucho fútbol, baloncesto y voleibol, y demasiadas horas jugando videojuegos.

En aquel tiempo, la vida como niño y adolescente estaba más llena de juego y, de alguna manera, en mi caso al menos, era mucho más divertida.

No sentía el peso ni la rigidez de ahora, esas expectativas fuertes frente a los demás, frente a la sociedad, el clásico “debería hacer esto porque ya tengo esta edad”, “una casa, un carro, casarme, etc.” Y bueno, aunque tenía responsabilidades de adolescente, como ir al colegio o hacer tareas, no era lo que reinaba o dominaba mis pensamientos.

«Las cosas que los niños y niñas aprenden por iniciativa propia durante el juego libre, no pueden ser aprendidas de otra manera” Peter Gray.

Cuando empiezas a ser adulto, lentamente se empieza a perder ese disfrute, esta visión de la vida. De repente, tu vida gira en torno, casi exclusivamente, al trabajo y a las obligaciones de la vida adulta. Y aun si eres de los pocos privilegiados que tienen un trabajo que les gusta y disfrutan, habrá momentos en que se tornará pesado: papeleos y actividades burocráticas que seguramente no disfrutarás del todo.

Si tuviste una infancia de juego, verás con nostalgia esos tiempos en los que no querías ir a dormir porque querías seguir jugando.

Ahora seguramente se preguntarán: “Pues sí, pero ya crecimos, nos corresponde ser adultos responsables, no podemos vivir en fantasías”.

Estoy de acuerdo en parte, pero no tenemos que renunciar al juego en nuestras vidas; podemos incorporarlo y, de hecho, nos vendría muy bien. Es más, puede hasta salvar la vida.

¿Qué es el Juego?

El juego, para el antropólogo Johan Huizinga, es la categoría fundamental del comportamiento humano: sin el juego, la civilización no existiría. Y no es solo entretenimiento infantil. Es una actividad estructurante de sentido, con características específicas.

• Divertido El juego se disfruta. No aburre, entretiene

• Libre El juego no se impone. Si es obligatorio, deja de ser juego.

• Separado de la vida ordinaria Ocurre en un “como si”: un espacio y tiempo propios (el campo, el tablero, el escenario). Es un escenario que se comparte por un rato.

• Cargado de significado Aunque no sea “útil” en términos prácticos, es profundamente significativo.

• Generador de comunidad Quien juega entra en un pacto simbólico con otros. Suele ser más una diversión compartida que un placer solitario.

• Espontáneo Aunque haya reglas —algunas explícitas, otras implícitas— y se juegue en serio, aunque se controle su desarrollo y se oriente a una meta, no suele ser tan rígido como el trabajo en una oficina o en una fábrica.

Hasta entonces, el ser humano se había definido principalmente como:

Homo sapiens (el que piensa) y Homo faber (el que fabrica)

Huizinga propone una tercera raíz más profunda: el ser humano es, ante todo, un ser que juega (Homo Ludens)

A nivel individual y psicológico, en el juego exploramos identidades, probamos límites sin consecuencias fatales y ensayamos roles (liderar, perder, cooperar).

Además, es una forma segura de autodescubrimiento:

Se restaura la creatividad. Ayuda a entrar en estado de flujo El ego se suaviza.

«Lo que hace excepcional a la especie humana, es que estamos diseñados para jugar durante toda la vida». Stuart Brown.

No he conocido una sola persona en mi vida que no disfrute o haya disfrutado algún tipo de juego, sean deportes, individuales o colectivos, o juegos infantiles.

¿Quién de nosotros no disfrutó al menos alguno de estos: las escondidas, el loco paralizado, la lleva (la eres) o, en su defecto, juegos de mesa como dominó, póker, monopolio, bingo, ludo, Risk, Stop, etc.?

Esta es una explicación fundacional sobre cómo los seres humanos nos hemos desarrollado (y lo seguimos haciendo) a través del juego.

Decía Albert Camus:

“Todo lo que sé sobre la moral y las obligaciones de los hombres se lo debo al fútbol”.

Esta frase la siento en el alma. He sido fan del fútbol y lo he jugado por mucho tiempo a nivel recreacional y amateur. Podría escribir un artículo entero sobre cómo ha influido en mis valores y en cómo veo la vida: cómo trabajar en equipo, cómo ser un líder, cómo ayudar, cómo controlar el ego, cómo equivocarse y aprender a perder, de compañerismo, de solidaridad, etc.

No creo que solo pase en el fútbol; probablemente ocurra en cualquier práctica deportiva colectiva. Camus decía que se pueden encontrar paralelismos con todas las vicisitudes de la vida .

Marshall Rosenberg y cómo ver todo como un juego

Desde hace unos años he notado que, cuando juego a algo o cuando lo adopto como un “juego”, tengo una energía diferente para encarar los desafíos de esa actividad.

Eso es algo que, a nivel psicológico, Marshall Rosenberg, creador de la CNV (Comunicación No Violenta) y uno de mis héroes personales, me cambió la vida con algo muy sencillo (en realidad, con toda su obra). Él mencionaba que deberíamos ver la vida, y toda acción que hagamos, como un juego, como una forma de contribuir a la vida misma.

Que deberíamos deshacernos de motivaciones guiadas por el miedo, la culpa, la vergüenza, el deber u la obligación.

Él menciona en su libro un par de historias personales. Una de ellas era que odiaba hacer historias clínicas, y lo hizo por mucho tiempo, suponiendo que, como él era psiquiatra, tenía que hacerlo; pues era su trabajo.

Pero al verificar con detenimiento las razones de por qué lo hacía, se dio cuenta de que era por dinero, e inmediatamente comprendió que podía hacer dinero de otra forma o que, a lo mejor, no tendría que hacer todas esas historias clínicas. Se dio cuenta de que podía elegir.

“Tal vez de las más peligrosas de las conductas sea hacer las cosas porque se supone que tenemos que hacerlas”.

Él mencionaba también que llevar a los niños a la escuela le parecía demasiado tedioso. Pero, en esta ocasión, al examinar la causa que justificaba llevarlos, se dio cuenta de los beneficios que obtenían sus hijos al asistir a esa escuela. La institución quedaba lejos, pero ofrecía unos valores educativos que Marshall valoraba. De repente, la energía desde la cual lo hacía cambió totalmente y la queja se desvaneció.

“Tengo que hacer esto” por “Elijo hacer esto porque valoro…”

Usemos un par de ejemplos:

“Tengo que hacer dieta y hacer ejercicio”.

“Elijo hacer dieta y hacer ejercicio porque valoro mi salud y mis niveles de energía”.

“Tengo que ver a mi amigo porque se siente solo después de su separación, aunque estoy cansado y no me apetece”.

“Elijo ir a ver a mi amigo y acompañarlo porque valoro nuestra amistad y su bienestar”.

Cuando hacemos algo porque queremos, porque elegimos hacerlo, incluso algo difícil, el cuerpo y la mente lo viven distinto.

Preguntémonos: ¿cuántas veces llevamos a cabo acciones por obligación, por un sentido del deber, por dinero, por aprobación o para evitar el castigo o la culpa?

Tal vez más de las que estamos dispuestos a admitir.

“En una hora de juego se puede descubrir más acerca de una persona que en un año de conversación” -Platón.

En nuestra educación y en nuestra cultura, y de hecho en nuestro lenguaje mismo, están tan inmersas las palabras “debería”, “tendría”, que hemos olvidado que podemos elegir; hemos olvidado nuestra posibilidad de agencia.

Eso me pasaba: notaba que la energía que daba al jugar, a disfrutar el juego, a hacer todo lo posible por ganar, siguiendo las reglas y sin ser abusivo, me enseñaba de todo y me hacía sentir mejor, más vivo.

A eso siento que se refiere Rosenberg.

Cultivar la conciencia de la energía que se encuentra detrás de nuestras acciones.

Después de leer a Rosenberg, empecé a buscar gamificar mis experiencias, enfocándome en objetivos, desafíos y recompensas, en lugar de verlas como una obligación; se trata de adoptar una mentalidad activa, crear “misiones”, aprender de los “fallos” (errores) y disfrutar el “viaje” de la vida como crecimiento, no solo del destino, aplicando estrategias, tomando decisiones y construyendo un “personaje” fuerte.

¿Por qué es tan importante el disfrute según Gabor Maté?

Recuerdo que solía ser muy rígido en mi personalidad —muy tímido, muy estructurado— hasta hace unos ocho años. De chico, siempre que sacaba buenas notas en clase, recibía mucha validación externa de mis profesores y de mi familia. Aunque eso reforzaba mis ganas de aprender, también limitaba la posibilidad de explorar otras partes de mí, sobre todo la espontaneidad. No sé exactamente por qué. Creo que, como me conocían como esa versión timida, no me daba el permiso de explorar esa otra parte.

Mi identidad ha estado vinculada fuertemente con mi mente y con el pensamiento lógico-deductivo. Aún sigo luchando con ello: sobrepensando y tratando de resolverlo todo. Eso me trajo muchos beneficios, pero me quitaba, en cierta forma, el disfrute.

Hasta que entré en contacto con el arte: tocando guitarra, escribiendo, haciendo impro. Lo disfruté, y aún lo sigo haciendo, conociéndome a mí mismo y descubriendo facetas de manera compasiva, sin desviarme de los principios que más valoro. Me di cuenta de que mi identidad no tiene por qué ser rígida.

“No estás obligado a ser la misma persona que eras hace cinco minutos.” — Alan Watts

Maté, en su libro El mito de la normalidad, menciona que recuperar el disfrute puede salvarte la vida.

Desde su mirada clínica (trauma, adicciones, enfermedad), Maté observa un patrón claro:

La mayoría de las personas afectadas por situaciones traumáticas, que posteriormente desarrollan enfermedades autoinmunes o adicciones severas, suelen ser personas muy responsables, muy autoexigentes, muy desconectadas del placer y muy duras consigo mismas.

Esta personalidad que desarrollaron fue simplemente una respuesta a eventos duros, donde solo de esa manera podían sobrevivir. Pero esa personalidad no es rígida, y merece cambiar; necesita cambiar y adaptarse cuando ya no estás en modo supervivencia.

Buscar:

• No tomarse tan en serio

• Recuperar el disfrute

• Permitir el juego y la curiosidad

• Soltar la identidad rígida

No voy a entrar en detalles acerca del trauma, pero lo que llegué a conectar leyendo ese capítulo del libro de Maté es que, si tu identidad no te la tomas de manera tan rígida y le das espacio al juego en la vida, si te permites un lugar donde tu yo auténtico pueda existir sin estar en juicio permanente, es uno de los mayores actos de amor y autocompasión que podemos tener con nosotros mismos

Conclusión

Para mí está claro: jugar es una forma de autocompasión profunda. Cuando una persona actúa desde el deseo de contribuir y no desde la culpa, cuando puede reírse de sí misma y soltar la identidad rígida, su cuerpo descansa y su vida recupera sentido.

Además, tenemos solo una vida. ¿Por qué hacerla tan seria? Podemos ser responsables y, aun así, jugar y contribuir a esta única y maravillosa experiencia en esta roca flotante junto a otros seres.

---

Referencias

Huizinga, Johan. Homo Ludens. 1938.

Rosenberg, Marshall B. Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life. 1999.

Maté, Gabor y Daniel Maté. El mito de la normalidad. 2022.

Confieso que el mundo paranormal no es mi fuerte. Quizás exista, pero soy incrédulo. Tan incrédulo que ni siquiera juego a la lotería.

Una noche soñé con un número que pude recordar al despertarme.

Confieso también que estuve tentado a comprar el número, pero por convicción no lo hice. Sé que no ha salido en ninguna de las loterías que la gente juega. Por tanto, el premio está pendiente.

Cuál no sería mi sorpresa que al registrarme en una página de internet y equivocarme con la contraseña, el número infinito de recuperación comenzó con las cifras exactas del número que soñé.

Al comentárselo a Rosa, mi mujer, tiró la puerta del horno y me dijo:

-Ahi está, y tú tan incrédulo.

Desde entonces, ella algunas veces juega el número en la lotería y yo, aunque discretamente, estudio ese portal, por si de algún modo la suerte está allí.

Pero nada. No lo veo fácil, y en el fondo quizás tampoco quiera. Porque lo que nos falta es que a los dos nos de por la búsqueda de eso que tú estás buscando pero que en el fondo sabes que no va a aparecer y que, como todos, nos vayamos moviendo de aquí para allá, de lado y de vuelta, tratando de descifrar por qué razón, siendo tan especiales, seguimos sin encontrar no se sabe qué.

-Paco, ¿has visto algo?

Mucha gente se quiere hacer rica, pero allí no es tan fácil. Te dejan avanzar un poquito, lo suficiente para que te lo vayas creyendo, luego te descuidas, y cuando más infladas tienes la ilusiones, en ese instante terminas reventado.

A mí me llegaron a ofrecer, en petit comité, un mapa del tesoro y una espada de prócer. Eso sí, hice muchos amigos. Personas muy influyentes, con grandes contactos en círculos militares, de hidrocarburos y minería. Yo me divertí mucho y no reniego de lo que gasté porque me enamoré de Florecita, que baila como un trompo. El problema vino cuando me dijo que era sobrina del ministro de transporte y al escucharlo mi hermano Luis, que es poeta, se inventó que tenía unos aviones. Unos Islander, para ser precisos. A mí me juró que sí y me fui resbalando por las ganas de hacerme rico y casarme con la belleza que tenía a mí lado. Me merecía algo así, ya era hora. Él ponía los aviones y yo ponía a la sobrina del ministro. Al cincuenta por ciento o nada.

Cuando Luis dijo que sí, fuimos con Florecita a ver a su tío. Qué tipazo. Lo primero que hizo fue mirarnos de arriba a abajo y señalándome con el puro, me dijo:

-Dame un abrazo, sobrino. Ahí me enganchó, qué detalle.

La reunión, muy productiva. Luego nos llevó a conocer a su compadre el dueño de La Plata donde cenamos ceviches, pulpos, langostinos dorados, crema de langosta, chuletón de buey, helados de papaya con aguacate, whisky de malta a mares, con mucho hielo, puros y más puros mojados al ron, y cuando vino la cuenta no había ni ministro, ni Florecita, ni compadre; por no haber no había dónde agarrarse y terminamos deportados.

Y aquí estamos, en la casa de mi mamá, que nos tiene que comprar ropa porque todo se quedó en el hotel.

-Luis, ¿puedes decirme de dónde ibas a sacar los Islander? -De los pétalos de Florecita.

No me hubiera querido despertar, pero tuve que hacerlo cuando reventaron los timbrazos de la puerta. Créanme, esto no es timbre, es como una sierra que penetra hasta cortar varias partes del tímpano.

Seguía, y seguía.

Salté de la cama, me puse los pantalones y al observar por la mirilla, para qué les voy a dar más rodeos: era un oso.

Pero no un oso cualquiera, tenía cara de susto, como si huyera de algo.

Sin pensarlo, de esas cosas que hace uno como reflejo del karma, lo dejé pasar, entró al salón y le pedí que se sentara.

Me pareció desorientado. Mientras le preparaba un café cargado, me di cuenta que, al contrario de lo que uno cree que es un oso, realmente no era tan alto, más bien normal, de mi tamaño, aunque los pelos le dan más volumen. Tampoco era flaco. No olía bien ni mal. Sus zapatos eran grandes, de marca. Vestía un chaleco con forro de seda de corte italiano, y llevaba una riñonera de cuero. Nada más.

Mientras daba sorbos al café, me dijo:

-Aunque la confianza a veces hace enemigos, quiero abrirle mi corazón. Me acabo de escapar de la casa de su vecino, que me ha tenido encerrado desde niño. No es que tenga queja; me ha tratado como a un hijo, pero yo no soy su hijo, yo soy un oso. Tengo autoconsciencia de oso. Estudié en internet lo que soy y me eduqué leyendo todos los ebooks gratuitos que pude descargarme. Los alojé en una nube y hasta hice algunos resúmenes de libros, en un blog con el seudónimo de Sinforoso. No soy un iletrado. Le digo esto porque así comprenderá que tengo cierto conocimiento de las cosas. Logré invertir en opciones y ganar, realmente ganar, operando con criptomonedas. Quiero escaparme, necesito su ayuda, pero no quiero perder esa fortuna que tanto me ha costado. Necesito una cuenta de banco humana, con su contraseña, para hacer las transferencias. Le prometo hacerlo rico. La cabeza se me fue inflando de codicia pero saqué fuerza de flaqueza y, como pude, le dije: -Oso, tú me quieres estafar.

Today E really fucking got me. I told her that I have been feeling neglected by her as of recent, and neglected. This week moving and working from home has been very isolating, and it even got so bad that a few days ago I broke down crying. She didn’t follow up and ask me how I was feeling, and also was very distant because she was focused on her school. I made several bids for connection and she rejected them, and when I brought them up today I told her that I needed some space because I was frustrated/hurt by the above. She asked me to talk about it, and then when I did she stopped responding and gave “I’m sorry” as a response to several texts. When I brought it up after a few hours that I felt shitty because it felt like she asked me to explain how I was feeling, and then when I did she just shut down the conversation. I really hoped that she would come out the conversation with a sense of curiosity trying to understand what hurt me, but instead it felt like she just shut down. She then left me on read for over an hour after that. To me I think about flipping the roles and how people would freak out on social media, and say what a shitty boyfriend.

as if time itself had paused mid sentence and was asking us to finish it. our late night talk still lingering in the air, half smoke, half memory. it felt like we already knew each other as old friends, though we never shared a past, only a coincidence that learned our names. and by the time we reached my door, the entire district seemed to smile, windows were blinking, streets leaning in to listen. and the absurdity of it all, how many times I wandered around without your address, orbiting you by mistake. it would be unnatural not to fall in love with this moment, because every sound I hear now is translated into our crooked slang, language bending itself just to sound like us. It feels as though my instructions were already written in you, and when you hold me, the world slows it spinning. And I think I like it exactly as it is.

/aug 23