11 Feb 2005

...I stopped wandering, became then aware of where I was.
I had spent so much energy going nowhere, doing nothing,
that I was as a child, amazed that I could affect the world…

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:07 am

10 Feb 2005

Nothing is anonymous. Everything has its own character, and I think it no mistake that such a phenomenon pervades the universe. The most mass-produced toy: the units so fashioned to be identical, one to the next: physics will decree that each has its own little quirks, each of a little mystery unique. What we try to make as manufactures without personality, God, in His infinite detail, undermines our trivial consistencies with a diversity that transcends the limits of our control. I think that even were we to create things that were atom by atom the exact same, even then we could not remove the nature of what is distinct between them! For it is written that the very hairs on our heads are counted. And it may go even further than what we ever dreamed, and I do not think it beyond Him: that each and every atom has its own name!

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:03 am

8 Feb 2005

‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

– Bob Dylan

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:29 am

Shall I travel the entire world, roam through every corner of discovery, only to return to where I started, to find I needed go nowhere to find who I am? For that is the one thing that escapes us, is it not — to he who has everything, having not found oneself means only to lose oneself in various intoxications, lulled by fruitless dreaming? To awake, then, would be to see the emptiness of it all, would it not? And so, the destitute man who knows who he is, is he not fully satisfied? Is it not thus that when he has meaning, when he has purpose, a man can withstand unheard of sufferings — and even pray for those who murder him? Or is it so that sometimes to ask the question of why is enough, or is it that there are some things that no answer will satisfy, be it from God’s own mouth? (And I ask, who has not wanted the impossible, at one time or another?) Who wants to know?

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:02 am

7 Feb 2005

If life is but a dream, what is it that we will wake to?

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:09 am

A. G. Rizzoli: The Kathedral

Click on the pic for a larger version.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:08 am

5 Feb 2005

“Oh Bother,” said Pooh as he stared into the unspeakable visage of Cthulhu.

– Unknown

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:05 am

Wanderlust

I have breathed this air before, returned
to me after having circulated
through abrupt pantings and gasps,
through ulterior sighs and growls,
through wild laughter and sobs:
and I, when I released it last,
was I so much different, so far removed
that even the atmosphere must remind me
nothing new is under the sun?
I have stayed in one place
for millions of years, like a species
that forgot somewhere how to evolve;
I have remained motionless
for weeks, as if I were like glass,
a liquid that forgot how to pour;
and if I forgot myself, in the world
there would be one me-shaped hole
that everyone notices, but nobody talks about.
So what is it that I have to do?
I move some matter from one arrangement
into some other one, while I am
strangely me through all that happens:
and my wanderlust comes and goes,
but I have no choice but to travel through life.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:04 am

4 Feb 2005

In time, time will end, and all that will be left is another beginning.

In time, even death shall die, for even the paradoxes must occur.

In time, all the love that we have ever sent out shall return to us.

In time, we will see all the miracles we never noticed, and be amazed.

In time, all the dreams we have forgotten shall awake from their sleep.

In time, imagination will understand just how big infinity really is.

In time, I will remember that song we all forget — you know the one.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

3 Feb 2005

Somewhere in us there is a need to believe in miracles. The most cynical, the most crass: even he will get teary-eyed watching A Christmas Carol, seeing Scrooge turn from his ways and saving Tiny Tim. It is something fundamental in our souls, that we imagine that the most horrible situations can turn on a dime, that courage can suddenly assert itself on a lifelong coward, that wine can come from water and the multitude fed. On some level, we require that the immutable laws of happenstance bend, or even break, just for a little while, just for a moment, and another order impose itself upon the universe: where nothing is impossible while the spirit rests here, where all is as it was meant to be, and heaven touches down to grace us with its fantastic hand.

I think it may be that the child in us is still there, the one who always believed in magic. It is the innocence in us that never died, and I think never will, that wants to know that miracles are possible — hope against hope, that such phenomena are somehow possible. And perhaps the implicit order of a miracle: maybe it indeed need not break any law of physics; maybe it is in actuality built into such laws, and this belief we have belie not any foolishness on our parts. And really, if we look around, here and now, in every corner, there is magic all around. We don’t notice that miracles happen every day simply because they happen every day. Maybe that goes into the equation, too: to believe in the miraculous is just noticing, subconsciously, what goes on everywhere….

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:07 am

1 Feb 2005

A basic principle in the interpretation of the Bible is that one must first ask what a given Scripture was intended to mean to the people for whom it was originally written; only then is the interpreter free to ask what meaning it has for Christians today. Failure to ask this primary question and to investigate the historical setting of Scripture have prevented many Christians from coming to a correct understanding of some parts of the Bible. Nowhere is this more true than in respect to the last book in the Bible. Here, there has been a singular lack of appreciation for the historical background of the book; the book has been interpreted as if it were primarily written for the day in which the expositor lives (which is usually thought to be the end time), rather than in terms of what it meant to the first-century Christians of the Roman province of Asia for whom it was originally written. This has resulted in all sorts of grotesque and fantastic conclusions of which the author of the Revelation and its early recipients never would have dreamed.

– W. Ward Gasque

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:08 am

Where will you be at the end of the world? What will you do?
For such a time gives you no more casual moments to repent….
How in faith, though, might one be surprisingly prepared for it….

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:04 am

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