I come upon this world as a beggar swelled up with pride. I come upon this world as a criminal who feels he is deserving of all graces. I come upon this world as a poet with nothing to say, an adventurer who is afraid to go out his door, a soldier who cannot pull the trigger. I come upon this world not really as a paradox, as might seemingly be implied, but as this complicated mess called a human being, who has made the world hard on himself and then complains about the world being so difficult. For all the infinity of God, He is made of the simplest stuff of all: God is love. (Remember? Love is so simple we’ll never understand it.) And one who lives in that way, the more, the more, would he see how the tangle would clear. Or at least, this is how I theorize things would be; I am myself not in quite the way of saintly devotion. And I blame everything, and everyone in the universe but myself.
16 Jan 2006
14 Jan 2006
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
– Sarah McLachlan
13 Jan 2006
There are times when your planets converge, line up in a beneficent gravity. Pain, for a moment… there is a certain forgetting of such things, for in that moment, all there is is the certainty of now. Life is pure being, not too say it is bliss, or even delight… it is the peace of having gotten this far without having crawled out of your skin (for there were times you wanted to — though exactly when that was, you can’t quite place). It is to say that none of it matters, though it is not meaningless, for a hovering of one’s responsibilities is not their elimination: it is merely “what may be, let it”. And then… Your planets are still in motion, you realize, and the gravity turns ever so slowly askew; the alignment splays from its place. The sanity, however, as if it remembers itself — it was an ambient breath of clear, the eye in a hurricane of smoke.
12 Jan 2006
There are many things which do not concern the process.
– Joan of Arc
Who shall light my old footsteps, a torch to what I have thought?
When the wind tastes me no more, who gives flavor to my memories?
Like all sparrows, I shall fall, and wonder small, who shall hear it…
10 Jan 2006
Faith is not only a commitment to the promises of Christ; faith is also a commitment to the demands of Christ.
(this is part of a sci-fi project I work on, off and on)
There are at times murmurs of conspiracy. Whispers of a hidden monolith that shelters the great and timeless evils that have always dwelled in the high shadows, whispers that often have no name. Or from rare lips, is barely breathed the nomenclature of the unseen darkness, and the subject quickly changed: Thawn. The shadow of a name to the dread entity, which we all have always known as the collective, “Them.” It is the name that people have put to their fear, roots of which no one is quite clear about, especially as no one wants to talk about things so… unspeakable. It is said that there are things so dark that even shadow cannot hide them, which, if one should happen the merest peripheral glimpse, kills whatever is left of innocence in you. But many do not believe in these antifables. They sensibly speak of what is known, and not to hold in strange reverence what is only detailed in the forms of rumor. Even these, though, understand of what they say, such concepts. What might be possible in darkness.
Then there is that other place, and even fewer have an inkling that such impossibilities could ever be, no matter what else is possible: Ifnia. This was the other myth, that there were (and are!) an invisible, invincible set of paladins who made of the first of all the stuff that now exists a place of pure light. These would be those who hold the line against the forces of murk, and of their collateral necromancy. When a soul is saved from some ruin by a mysterious collaboration of serendipities, it is said that this enigma of light is responsible — those whose mark would be how careful they leave no mark. It speaks of the hope that this kind of nobility could exist: who wordlessly protect and asks no honor be returned; which darkness ultimately could not claim, even were the whole world to fall under shadow. And these, even fewer do they credit with existing, being double-plus more the unimaginable than some overarching darkness… could light shine so, the very of brightness? But still, if one knows enough of the story — it is something at the very least to pass down to the children: the stand against all that is wrong inside and out the wide, wide world.
9 Jan 2006
All of what you see before you, all of it is merely my 10,000 interpretations of a day in the life. And I know I will never get it right, this one day that I have, that I try and live, over and over again. That is how I see it, at any rate: all of us only have today, this one day: our Lord told us not to think of the morrow, and yesterday is not but a memory, so what else do we have? We were all of us caught at birth by an incredible stream whose beginning and whose end we will never know, except maybe in story, given this gift called today. And some of us decided to write about it, this thing we are living in, or paint, or sing. For everything under the sun having always been around, it can be surprisingly new, from time to time; and this illusion itself of time can be quite novel in its tapestry. But I have seen the secret, that all we have is this one day, this being it: today: and I will see if I can describe it, what I see, and hear, etc. For I think that when we finally sleep, it will be a long time to wake.
7 Jan 2006
Do you believe in a miracle, or just the things that you heard?
– Shawn Colvin
6 Jan 2006
I have breathed in darkness,
and after a thousand calculations
exhaled light: mysterious.
I think it has to do with dreaming,
but this answers nothing,
even that I do the impossible
within the flowing of the dreamtime.
It surely has nothing to do with
conscious will, for they
are small accomplishments, all,
those things that we of purpose
create, for the great things
have been with us from the beginning.
We are not ghosts in the machine,
for the machine is more complicated
than such a distinct separation,
and a soul may be completely described,
after all is conjectured
by a collection of quantum matter.
I will understand this much:
when I make real that which was
seen in my mind’s eye alone,
it is the least of all things
that I rearrange the atoms of the world
to resemble what I have seen.
I need keep this in mind when I work.
I was not the first of all to say,
“Let there be light.”
…and there was light.
5 Jan 2006
Imagination is merely the mind’s consolation that the body cannot make its own light.
I am slow upon the world, a wine that patiently gathers flavor from the days that pass, and years. But perhaps, not quite so patient. For I have had it so that I wanted it all, all at once, to expend the totality of sweetnesses of my lifetime in one blazing minute — and thought not of what it would be, the minute that followed. The world had better ideas. Some might lament that youth is gone, and many opportunities have passed, lament for many of the — if not great — good things that could have happened, that might have been done; but instead, I say my life has grown steadily in flavor, spices that perhaps would have been missed on a palate more unsubtle than this one has become. And there is still much life ahead that may yield fruit, perhaps not as vigorous as would have come in more the salad days, but more careful, better weathered. I am slow upon the world, and understand a little when the world seems slow upon me. Saving the best for last is often merely a state of mind.
3 Jan 2006
Where my Lord has gone, I have attempted to follow. It seems, though, He leads us just past the brink of where we want to go, into lands we never thought to venture in. In our normal courses, we do not want the bother of dealing with certain things, and these are just the things that He would have us deem of import. If and when we heed the call, however, it always is not so much the huge inconvenience we had thought, for as He said, the burden is light that He would have us carry. But it is such to follow, I think: that we will be bothered, that we will be harassed, that we will be nonplused, until we find it habit always to go out of our way: ours, where we found it so comfortable, following the world’s wisdom instead of His.
2 Jan 2006
So long as a man confines his ideas of Christ to a rather misty hero figure of long ago who died a tragic death, and so long as his ideas of Christianity are bounded by what he calls the Sermon on the Mount (which he has almost certainly not read in its entirety since he became grown-up), then the living truth never has a chance to touch him. This is plainly what has happened to many otherwise intelligent people. Over the years I have had hundreds of conversations with people, many of them of higher intellectual calibre than my own, who quite obviously had no idea of what Christianity is really about. I was in no case trying to catch them out: I was simply and gently trying to find out what they knew about the New Testament. My conclusion was that they knew virtually nothing. This I find pathetic and somewhat horrifying. It means that the most important Event in human history is politely and quietly bypassed. For it is not as though the evidence had been examined and found unconvincing: it had simply never been examined.
The thousand times that we begin in this life are not lost:
for the ending of things requires not such the courage as these,
when we, in the image of the infinite, of dust breathe life.