It has been three long months since I have found the motivation, the courage to write. So many thoughts not recorded, so many stories untold. The adventure of my life has always propelled me forward, and yet, in these several weeks, despite the highs and lows, I have been unable to gather my thoughts into a format which lends itself to this place.

This is the first time I have prepared what is for me a journal entry, something very personal, yet published here for all to see. No, I did not venture to another country. I did not climb a higher rock. I did not wake from a vivid dream. Rather, the unfolding of this journey is inside of me.

I knew this time was coming, the desire to grow strong, for in recent communications I have found that my words were rhyming without intent, my sentences flowing, matching prose to song.

Something was coming alive, in an otherwise dead space, wanting to see the light of day again where only shadows did waste.

It’s time to breathe again.
It’s time to shake free the mud.
It’s time to find solace in the open spaces.
new comfort after the loss of love.

These are the dark times,
the hard times, the hours when
the shadow figures come to stay.

These are the spaces in which
history is mixed with emotion,
confusing the memory of former days.

These are the only words to escape
from the immense gravitational pull,
one lover crushed, the other lost to space.

To see beyond the horizon
requires breaking free of the confine
which gives life chase, for …

These are the dark times,
the hard times, the hours when
we have forgotten love found

in that special, safe place.

“I. You.”
I experience myself as only I am able. I know myself in ways I will never know you. Therefore, “I” is a solid circle, as it is the whole experience of me.

We may laugh, cry, fight, or make love, but ultimately, I will never fully know the experience of being you. My experience of you, for as rich as it may be, will always be how I experience you through my senses of sight, sound, touch, taste, and that intangible we call relationship. My experience of you will always be but a shell of who you really are. Therefore, “you” is an open circle, a shell around your core.

“To be.”
The richness of this human existence may be expressed best as the ebb and flow of our emotions, our perceptions, our comings and goings into the various realms and depths of self-awareness. Being human is never a stagnant thing, nor is being human a variable ever decreasing or increasing, for we hourly, daily, annually rise and fall to our creative potentials and our reptilian cores. Therefore, “to be” is an uncertainty, a relative unknown, a wave.

“I am …”
We spend our entire lives describing our experience of being human to one another. We do this through verbal conversation, through our body language too. We express our experience of this relatively short time through the subtleties of endorphins released when courting a mate or running a race, and the bold release of sadness, anger, pain, and fear.’

I want. I need. I can or I cannot. I will or I will not. And when we attempt to control others, You will or You will not. Sometimes we stop long enough to reach out and ask, What do you need?

But ultimately, if we remove all the layers of where we are in the moment, the volatility, the passion, the wants and the needs, we are left with a very elemental central theme that likely perseveres throughout our entire life.

Everything we want, need, can or cannot do, even those things we demand from or give to others is a reflection of who we are. Therefore, central to iConji are the two most important characters, “I am” followed by the uncertainty of what we will do next, “…”

When you use iConji, stop long enough to consider who you are. You may send the character for ‘beer’ and a clock and a question mark with attached Notes for the time and place, but even in that simple request that your friend meet you for a drink in the evening at your favorite pub, you have in that moment said, “I am …” or in iConji:

As there may come a day when I am no longer able to stand, when I am unable to do more than watch others move across the land, this is what I do, simply because I can:

I stand when given an option to sit.

I walk when others choose to stand.

And I run whenever I am able, simply because I can.

I see blind faces,
long faces,
sad faces,
empty spaces in the souls of those who walk the streets of London.

SHADOW
I am your shadow. You give me form.

Each day I move from West to East,
always in cool opposition of the intangible sun.

While you stand strong, anchored to the earth and rock,
I stretch, spread, and roll across the varied terrain.

In your image I explore, casting your
shape upon everything I touch.

But on those overcast days,
I am lost to you. I fear
I will exist no more.

Then the sun returns, my definition restored.

Each day the sun sets and I reach to
distant lands which you can see
but will never explore.

I am your shadow.
You give me
form.

TREE

You are
my shadow.
I give you form.

We move together
at the demand of the wind.

I am anchored in rock and stone,
but you are free to roam.

Yes, when the rains do come
and I pull the ground water into my veins,
you are lost, melted into the overcast glow.

But the sun always returns, our definition will
again be restored.

Despite my long branches and tremendous roots,
it is you that fills my imagination with places I
cannot explore.

You are my shadow, I give you form.

Herb Brokering, writer, poet, activist of a subtle means, and world traveler, died this week. This is my tribute to a man who heavily influenced my life, and the lives of countless more.

The Real Reason the Wall Came Down
In 1993, just four years after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, my family and 15 others from across the U.S. ventured to Germany and Poland under the leadership of Herb Brokering and Rolf Bell.

We started our journey in East Berlin, a city whose skyline was then filled with yellow cranes, a round-the-clock effort to once again unite a people who had been torn from each other under a harsh rule.

While I was fascinated by the reconstruction efforts which used computer generated models of churches to replace each mammoth, hand-carved block based upon a calculated trajectory from an unknown original position, it was the stories we received, translated from German to English by Herb and Rolf, that remain with me this day.

I recall a woman in her late 80s, I believe, who told of surviving a massive fire and the subsequent years under stifling rule, always living for the day her people could again be free. Herb’s translation, even his presence was transparent, for it is her voice and her words that I recall.

From those who had lived through the separation and then reunification of Germany, we learned how much had occurred, for years, behind the political and economic fronts, to bring down that wall.

The churches provided some level of sanctuary, a place where people could meet and talk more freely. There were countless thousands of people working together, in often subtle ways, to apply pressure from the inside. We learned of candlelight vigils, marches, and protests which put people’s lives at risk, but gave rise to an unstoppable force.

One night, at a theater production in Prague, the actors came to the stage and instead of performing, demanded that the attendees in the audience rise from their seats and join those outside, on the streets, in protest of that which could not be allowed any longer. They did, and the people marched.

It was not Ronald Reagan’s, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall,” speech alone, nor was it political sanctions, nor the looming shadow of military might that toppled the Wall. It was everything combined. There are countless thousands of untold stories of those who worked at a personal level, granting people the vigor, the courage, the perseverance to push through those hard times and hold on to their dream of a better future that finally gave the Wall permission to come down.

Herb, as much as any president or political leader helped make this happen. He lead several trips behind the Iron Curtain in years when few were allowed into the then East block countries. He brought people together from otherwise disconnected worlds in order that their stories could be told, their steadfast determination shared, and hope maintained. Those who received the stories returned to their homelands and applied pressure from the outside, through letter writing campaigns, the retelling of stories, the application of social pressure.

Projects Inspired
After Germany, we traveled to Salmapolska, Poland where my father, mother, brother and I worked with brick and mortar and stone to further the construction of a new church and outdoor amphitheater, presided over by energetic, fun-loving pastor Jan Byrt.

Two years later, in the spring of 1995, I traveled again with Herb to Germany and Poland where my then wife Heather and I designed and built a 2,000 square-foot playground for the same church, a massive project which involved volunteers from seven countries and a month of construction.

It was Herb who worked to heal both international and personal wounds, that continues to inspire me to maintain a life of volunteer work. If I may uphold just a fraction of what Herb accomplished in his lifetime, I will have lived a good life.

Thank you Herb for all that you gave to us, everywhere you traveled.

w/Love,
kai

ELCA News Service
12 November 2009

Herb Brokering, Lutheran Hymn Writer, Author, Poet, Dies

CHICAGO (ELCA) — The Rev. Herbert F. Brokering, pastor, author, lyricist, speaker and hymn writer of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), died Nov. 7 of congestive heart failure at his apartment in Bloomington, Minn., according to his son, Mark.

“Herb Brokering’s legacy includes carefully crafted words on the lips of believers gathered around the means of grace. He has helped us bring our faith to rich expression,” said the Rev. Michael L. Burk, bishop, ELCA Southeastern Iowa Synod, Iowa City. While ELCA director for worship, Burk oversaw the churchwide “Renewing Worship” project, which developed the ELCA’s new series of “Evangelical Lutheran Worship (ELW)” resources.

Born May 21, 1926, in Beatrice, Neb., Brokering graduated from Wartburg College, Waverly, Iowa, in 1945. He earned a master’s degree in child psychology from the University of Iowa, Iowa City, in 1947 and a bachelor of divinity degree in 1950 from the Evangelical Lutheran Theological Seminary (now Trinity Lutheran Seminary), Columbus, Ohio.

Brokering pursued graduate studies at the University of Kiel and the University of Erlangen in Germany, and at the University of Pittsburgh. Warburg College, Trinity Seminary and Concordia College, Austin, Texas, presented Brokering honorary doctorates. Wartburg and Trinity also recognized him as a distinguished alumnus.

While in Germany after World War II he worked with the Lutheran World Federation services to refugees. He served as pastor of Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Pittsburgh; Incarnation Lutheran Church, Cedarhurst, Long Island, N.Y., and St. John Lutheran Church, San Antonio, Texas.

Brokering was director for confirmation education with the former American Lutheran Church, Minneapolis, 1960 to 1970. He became a free lance educator, writer and consultant working in the United States, Europe and Japan. He wrote other popular Lutheran hymns such as “Earth and All Stars!”, “Praise, Praise! You Are My Rock”, and “Alleluia! Jesus is Risen!” Brokering co-directed the film, “Where Luther Walked” in 1981. He also taught at Luther Seminary, St. Paul, Minn., for several years.

Brokering was a promoter of healing, justice and peace, leading more than 100 pilgrimages in his lifetime to places in Europe, the Middle East, China and India. The East German Ministry of Culture presented him with a peacemaking award.

He authored more than 30 books for Augsburg Fortress, the publishing ministry of the ELCA, and more than 100 lyrics for almost 60 composers.

“Herb was a gifted poet, author, speaker and composer. He was also a delight — a man who cared deeply about his God, his family, his many friends and this publishing ministry,” said Beth A. Lewis, Augsburg Fortress president and chief executive officer.

“Herb was the youngest octogenarian I’ve ever known. Even as his body aged, his mind was young, and his curiosity and joy in living each day fully was reflected in his sparkling eyes. He will be missed by all of us at Augsburg Fortress who were privileged to work with him,” Lewis added.

Brokering married Lois Redelfs in 1950. She preceded him in death in 2004. They are survived by their children — Mark, Beth, Jon and Christopher. Shortly before his death, Brokering established the Herbert and Lois Brokering Healing Arts Endowment Fund at Wartburg College to support activities promoting the healing arts.

I am of the growing belief it is impossible to maintain a connected conversation, to push into the depth of contemplation, to gain awareness beyond that of the immediate–while chewing gum.

With only so many words
A friend recently engaged me in an interesting discussion initiated by her receipt of an email from inspirationpeak.com. The question went something like this, “What if everyone has only so many words inside … sooner or later you’d run out of words … and you’d never know when it was going to happen because everybody would have a different allotment. I could be in the middle of a story, run out of words … and never finish.”

I responded as follows:

As an engineer I would calculate the potential of my life span and divide the number of words remaining over the number of days, careful to use only the allotted number per day. If one day required more, then I would conserve for the next.

As an inventor, I would create a new way to communicate such that words would no longer be required.

As an entrepreneur, I would package my words by verb, noun, and modifiers and then sell them to those who are in need of more.

As an linquist, I would warn people of the hazards of using too many words at one time and the pending future in which words no longer exist.

But as an artist or perhaps as a lover, I would dump all my words into a single time and place simply because it felt right, with no fear of a mute future. I would live in silence for my remaining days knowing that my voice was consumed by an act of passion which no number of words could ever recreate.

Sometimes the effort to hang on is simply too great, and we fall.

Sometimes the path we follow does not lead where we desire, and we are trapped.

Sometimes the choice is made for us, and we are defeated.

But sometimes accepting the potential of nothing is the path which leads … to everything.