One interesting vision I had was of how the elements gain their characteristics. It appeared in my mind while I was in Brooklyn, at a Throbbing Gristle concert, which I was invited to by my Russian friend, Boris. We had just had dinner, and I had had a drink during that, plus I was taking some cold medicine. So, on something of an altered state of mind, I saw the various elements in simple models, and what different electron “shells” they had (“shells” in quotes because it is a rather antiquated concept, but one that best describes how we can understand an atom’s interface). We realize that one only interacts with an atom via those “shells”. The nucleus pretty much only gives an atom its mass.

If we understand that elements behave the way they do, when encountering other elements or more of the same element, because of the structure of their electron “shells”, we understand the façade of their emergence to be the fundamental structure to what qualitatively we experience of any substance at all. The factors that are determined by placement of electrons emerge by their bonding to other elements, or the same, and the resultant molecular arrangements make emergent larger scale behavior and experientials of elemental substance and molecular structures. The devil is in the details, God is the God of small things. That is how fine tuned the qualities are of that which we call physical reality: the humming of the electrons sing into being all of creation.

accidental surfaces: papers strewn by winds and covering
          acres in a millionlike patchwork
these books were not burned, but worse: unopened,
          tragic as unmarked graves, as if unlived
my senses are swallowed in the fugue, mist without
          memory of the black, bloodless truth
only crippled may you crawl into the house of wisdom;
          only destitute are you blameless
like a dream, you cannot understand the fate from inside
          it: the puzzle is not made of its pieces
without magic i will leap, fire at my heels, time to slow
          like wondering as i hang from the sky
and yet i am nothing but a follicle of dust shivering in a
          brownian daydream, mostly lost

van Gogh: Corridor in the Asylum

Click on the pic for a larger version.

I am an annihilationist. This means I do not believe in an eternal Hell, where the wicked are punished infinitely for a finite amount of sin. That never really made sense to me. I believe that when the netherworld is tossed (with its inhabitants) into the Lake of Fire, all of them are burned so that nothing of them remains, as painful as the amount of sin they committed in life would warrant. You don’t want to be a part of eternity? OK, pay your debts and you’re history. No muss, no fuss. And about Satan twisting in agony forever and ever? A different translation is for an age and ages that he burns — a lot, but that would be as expected for the prime evil. But at the end, he would be no more, as well. And I know I may be wrong, but this seems like such a sensible way of God’s justice to be manifest, you know? Thus do I believe.

Do you at all wonder about faith? How can you wish all the wrongs done you to be redressed, while all the wrongs you do to be overlooked? Yet this is the way people think; I know I have thought in this exact way. What will you believe when you face your Maker on the day of judgement? For we will be naked, of body, mind, soul, and spirit on that Day. Without excuse, will we all be. Do you wish to prepare for such an event? This is wisdom. Forgive, as you want to be forgiven. Learn how to let it go, all the petty things. If they come back, let it go again. Until you are free.

When we go through life
So sure of where we’re headin’
And we wind up lost and it’s
The best thing that could have happened
’Cause sometimes when you lose your way
It’s really just as well
Because you find yourself
Yeah, that’s when you find yourself

– Brad Paisley

[From our side] our relation to God is unrighteous. Secretly we are ourselves the masters in this relationship. We are not concerned with God, but with our own requirements, to which God must adjust Himself. Our arrogance demands that, in addition to everything else, some super-world should also be known and accessible to us. Our conduct calls for some deeper sanction, some approbation and remuneration from another world. Our well-regulated, pleasurable life longs for some hours of devotion, some prolongation into infinity. And so, when we set God upon the throne of the world, we mean by God ourselves. In “believing” on Him, we justify, enjoy, and adore ourselves.

It can be seen thusly, the implements of life: we have been given everything, and only the mistakes are ours. Any talent, skill, strength, or intelligence: gifts from God. Even our will, and our ability to make any kind of effort: gifts. And of course creativity is a gift, what most of all is spoken of when He said, let us make him in our image. Whenever we do that is told us to do, all features of this act are given us: the resolve, the ability, the knowledge, the experience, the energy summoned: all gifts. And when we do something truly original, it is not that we do something outside the realm of God’s gifts; in fact, it is usually known to be the opposite. In Amadeus, Salieri says he is an enemy of God, because God spoke through Mozart in his music. That which is most beyond the ordinary is most a Gift, is it not?

But the mistakes, the errors, the sins, the misjudging: of course, God works them into His plan, but they are not of Him. Sometimes they seem to serve such purpose that one is suspicious as to whether the mistake was a mistake, things turn out so well. But that is only the skill of God, not yours. Error is worked into perfection only by a love that can summon light out of darkness. If you had meant to make that mistake, it would have been in your head to do so to begin with. They are of us, the errors, we who are the imperfect ones. (And we should not boast of these.) Yes, it is an extreme view, but it has some merit. To believe that by thus indeed we are defined: in what we do wrong, in those errors we commit into the record of the world, which reflect, however faintly, in eternity.

I am lost in dreaming for a time, thinking only in riddles.

Within me somewhere still is a rebellious heart, though quiet.

There is fire in me, some new, some that was before I was.

If we do not touch, a distance will grow with our neglect.

Finding purpose in life is merely to understand this: love.

Listen to others: you might just find yourself in their words.

I have withstood what I could, and I let the other things pass.

There comes certain moments in life, when it is as if everything stops turning, and for that moment, you are doing right by God and the world, and all that is wrong is quiet, and faded in the background’s background. When for that short space in time you understand how it is that God is love, with all that happens in the chaos of things and the violence of the malcontented. Do not think it is an illusion that these moments are, for it is the worry, and concern about lesser things, that is truly the illusion. The place where you find the presence of God is hallowed ground, wherever you may find it. The bush that burns and is not consumed. Like the heart that knows what it is to love.