Monday, June 21, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
He Makes the Intricate Seem Straight...
'Lead then,' said Eve.
He, leading swiftly rowld in tangles,
And made intricate seem strait,
To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy bright'ns his
Crest, as when a wandring fire
Compact of unctuous vapor, which the Night
Condenses, and the cold invirons round,
Kindl'd through agitation to a Flame,
Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends
Hovering and blazing with delusive Light,
Misleads th' amaz'd Night-wanderer from his way
To Boggs and Mires, and oft through Pond or Poole,
There swallow'd up and lost, from succour farr.
So glister'd the dire Snake, and into fraud
Led Eve our credulous Mother, to the Tree
Of prohibition, root of all our woe..."
John Milton, Paradise Lost book IX
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Starvation After Fill.
I was hungry, but not starved. Walking through the forest, my legs were tired, but I could go on. The air was chilly but not freezing.
Then I passed a house with broken shutters
And would have kept on going but--
A boy outside with brilliant eyes played thoughtfully with nature's toys.
Curiosity slowed me, I thought the colors interesting
Then in stillness, surrounding me, were memories of a million joys.
Stopping let my body feel its longing to rest.
The sweeping scent of food was one I knew that I could not forget.
The air seemed colder now for thought
of the spell a crackling fire brought
Years ago.
I didn't want to be trapped, I had places to see.
What if stopping there meant that I would never leave?
Fingers rested on the knob, debating what to do...
Then vidid flash of poverty, freezing in the snow
Thrown out from inside, the nights of resting warm
When that gnawing pain of hunger made me
Vomit--but never could I die from it--
Only wait in it.
That is why I started moving.
I will not forfeit motion, my saving grace from hell
I've learned to love the chill of morning, fatigue that keeps my legs from stopping.
I'd rather have hunger unrealized than starvation after fill.
Then I passed a house with broken shutters
And would have kept on going but--
A boy outside with brilliant eyes played thoughtfully with nature's toys.
Curiosity slowed me, I thought the colors interesting
Then in stillness, surrounding me, were memories of a million joys.
Stopping let my body feel its longing to rest.
The sweeping scent of food was one I knew that I could not forget.
The air seemed colder now for thought
of the spell a crackling fire brought
Years ago.
I didn't want to be trapped, I had places to see.
What if stopping there meant that I would never leave?
Fingers rested on the knob, debating what to do...
Then vidid flash of poverty, freezing in the snow
Thrown out from inside, the nights of resting warm
When that gnawing pain of hunger made me
Vomit--but never could I die from it--
Only wait in it.
That is why I started moving.
I will not forfeit motion, my saving grace from hell
I've learned to love the chill of morning, fatigue that keeps my legs from stopping.
I'd rather have hunger unrealized than starvation after fill.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Unconscious.
I live unconscious until the daylight fades
And night brings these merciless moments to haunt me, I know that no matter what I choose, how often I move, who I love, or how deeply I sleep, I can't remove this life, this soul, this presence.
So I document each night's consciousness from year to year, in a little book with blank ink script. When the scent is strong enough to be caught, my eyes flutter closed and drink of scenes:
Things I know and always forget.
Things I love that make me regret all daylight motion.
Here I lie in consciousness,
Until I am unconscious again.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Transparency
Imagine the ocean -- all of that massive fluid covering our planet.
Transcend the sea green waves where our boats skim along the surface into the quiet world beneath. Dolphins, buried mountains, quirky sea creatures, forgotten civilizations all build a world that is veiled to our eyes. The depth is unfathomable; we could never reach the bottom.
That hidden world is just like the human soul. It's easier to stay above the waves and never think of the richness underneath.
We are not all as simple as we seem.
The Romance of Wisdom
I tiptoed around 5 friends crashed in 500 water, stepped outside, and breathed in the beautiful new york city morning air. Hello, south street seaport. In a lovely coffee shop about 2 blocks away I realized (after reading my book for some time) that wisdom and romance are STRANGELY similar. haha. Here are the reasons why:
1. The mysterious nature and pursuit of wisdom makes it romantic. I picture it like a strong, somewhat reserved, (super hot) man. You can sense he's got something going on, and you don't know what it is, but you want to find out. Well, wisdom is something that unfolds to you, and has to be pursued. When you catch a glimpse of its beauty, you're hooked.
2. The idea of it is beautiful, but the practice of it is even better. Most people have checklists and general qualities they like in the opposite sex, but true sexual attraction transcends that. Chemistry is the unexplainable "x" factor everyone tries to figure it out, but really, you can't. Somewhere along the line you just find someone life seems better with than it is without them. You want to spend time with the whole person, not the combination of their qualities. Wisdom is the same in the sense that it comes most alive when you see how the principles in Proverbs bring depth, peace, and beauty to reality. You want to walk in them, share them, experience their fullness, and shape your values around them.
3. And there's the surrender aspect. The best romance is built on two people's selflessness and discipline--and that involves sacrifice. aka: not doing what you want when you want. I think wisdom works in a similar way. Even if you don't "feel" like changing your lifestyle...eventually you surrender...because you know by experience that it's better.
1. The mysterious nature and pursuit of wisdom makes it romantic. I picture it like a strong, somewhat reserved, (super hot) man. You can sense he's got something going on, and you don't know what it is, but you want to find out. Well, wisdom is something that unfolds to you, and has to be pursued. When you catch a glimpse of its beauty, you're hooked.
2. The idea of it is beautiful, but the practice of it is even better. Most people have checklists and general qualities they like in the opposite sex, but true sexual attraction transcends that. Chemistry is the unexplainable "x" factor everyone tries to figure it out, but really, you can't. Somewhere along the line you just find someone life seems better with than it is without them. You want to spend time with the whole person, not the combination of their qualities. Wisdom is the same in the sense that it comes most alive when you see how the principles in Proverbs bring depth, peace, and beauty to reality. You want to walk in them, share them, experience their fullness, and shape your values around them.
3. And there's the surrender aspect. The best romance is built on two people's selflessness and discipline--and that involves sacrifice. aka: not doing what you want when you want. I think wisdom works in a similar way. Even if you don't "feel" like changing your lifestyle...eventually you surrender...because you know by experience that it's better.
Illusive.
Wonder wells with dreams in my watery eyes
A touch, a wrinkle, a smirk.
All feeling was forgotten until the bright-eyed phantom came
And said he'd deliver
We press our gaze through blurry windows
Escaping in its soft, but brilliant light.
We light it up and live to love and
wisp away like paper
Illusive,
Transient as feather.
Like birds who fly from place to place
With sweeping grace to spiraling down
We lit it up and lived for love and
Sang a lovely song
Dreaming,
Waking to a hollow sound.
A touch, a wrinkle, a smirk.
All feeling was forgotten until the bright-eyed phantom came
And said he'd deliver
We press our gaze through blurry windows
Escaping in its soft, but brilliant light.
We light it up and live to love and
wisp away like paper
Illusive,
Transient as feather.
Like birds who fly from place to place
With sweeping grace to spiraling down
We lit it up and lived for love and
Sang a lovely song
Dreaming,
Waking to a hollow sound.
The Gumblers - A Children's Tale
These are the gumbler stories I tell
Of their lives in a murkey, blackened realm,
Alight with only a beam from above
That glowed on the ground around a well
Those creatures loved the liquids bright
So they cupped them in bubbles of silver delight.
Clink, clunk, clink, clunk
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
There were three gumbler girls with scrawny hips
And lipsticks that smeared on their thin-cracked lips,
With grim-green necks all draped in jewels,
They drew a slew of gumbler fools
To bewitch them all with bubbles twinkling
Between their fingers, fat and wrinkling.
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
There was a giant mole with crooked hands
Carrying buckets of water to lands
Where gumblers wanted more than their share,
Promising one day a bucket he’d spare,
So gumblers came from far and wide
Fastened their chains, and followed behind.
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
There once was a gumbler who chased the mole,
Then fell right into a mercury hole!
And everyone sighed and clucked and said,
“He should have seen that crater ahead,
We’d help him get out, if only we could,
But one mile more and a bucket we’ll hold!”
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
That poor gumbler did sit all night in the pit
Where no one else saw him throwing a fit
He knew not what to do with no light
On which to fix his eyes through the night
He wailed and—yes—he cried, he did,
For waterless, he had never been
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
Was the time I heard a gumbler cry,
His eyes were dull and his face was sunk,
And he knew not to look to the lighted sky.
And that gumbler was sad until he saw
Such a sight he had never seen at all
A gumbler who did not look like the rest
For she held no bubble of happiness
With hands scot-free and skin aglow
Her eyes were locked on a heavenly flow.
Click, thrive, click, revive,
Was the time a gumbler ceased to cry,
His eyes were at rest, and his face, alive,
When he gazed for love of the lighted sky.
Of their lives in a murkey, blackened realm,
Alight with only a beam from above
That glowed on the ground around a well
Those creatures loved the liquids bright
So they cupped them in bubbles of silver delight.
Clink, clunk, clink, clunk
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
There were three gumbler girls with scrawny hips
And lipsticks that smeared on their thin-cracked lips,
With grim-green necks all draped in jewels,
They drew a slew of gumbler fools
To bewitch them all with bubbles twinkling
Between their fingers, fat and wrinkling.
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
There was a giant mole with crooked hands
Carrying buckets of water to lands
Where gumblers wanted more than their share,
Promising one day a bucket he’d spare,
So gumblers came from far and wide
Fastened their chains, and followed behind.
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
There once was a gumbler who chased the mole,
Then fell right into a mercury hole!
And everyone sighed and clucked and said,
“He should have seen that crater ahead,
We’d help him get out, if only we could,
But one mile more and a bucket we’ll hold!”
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
You never heard the gumblers cry,
Their eyes were fixed and their faces, sunk,
And not one of them looked to the lighted sky.
That poor gumbler did sit all night in the pit
Where no one else saw him throwing a fit
He knew not what to do with no light
On which to fix his eyes through the night
He wailed and—yes—he cried, he did,
For waterless, he had never been
Click, clunk, click, clunk,
Was the time I heard a gumbler cry,
His eyes were dull and his face was sunk,
And he knew not to look to the lighted sky.
And that gumbler was sad until he saw
Such a sight he had never seen at all
A gumbler who did not look like the rest
For she held no bubble of happiness
With hands scot-free and skin aglow
Her eyes were locked on a heavenly flow.
Click, thrive, click, revive,
Was the time a gumbler ceased to cry,
His eyes were at rest, and his face, alive,
When he gazed for love of the lighted sky.
Monday, June 7, 2010
The Bible--practical liaison to the Kingdom of God
On the divine side, I assume that God has been willing and competent to arrange for the Bible, including its record of Jesus, to emerge and be preserved in ways that will secure his purposes for it among human beings worldwide. Those who actually believe in God will be untroubled by this. I assume that he did not and would not leave his message to humankind in a form that can only be understood by a handful of late-twentieth-century professional scholars, who cannot even agree among themselves on the theories that they assume to determine what the message is.
The Bible is, after all, God's gift to the world through his Church, not to the scholars. It comes through the life of his people and nourishes that life. Its purpose is practical, not academic. An intelligent, careful, intensive but straightforward reading--that is, one not governed by obscure and faddish theories or by a mindless orthodoxy--is what it requires to direct us into life in God's kingdom.
-Dallas Willard
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)