"Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up King and Parliament.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!"
05 November 2007
28 October 2007
"Breathe in me, Holy Spirit, that all my thoughts may be holy,
Act in me, Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy,
Draw my heart, Holy Spirit, that I may love only what is holy,
Strengthen me, Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy,
Guard me, Holy Spirit, that I may always be holy.
Amen."
-St. Augustine
Act in me, Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy,
Draw my heart, Holy Spirit, that I may love only what is holy,
Strengthen me, Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy,
Guard me, Holy Spirit, that I may always be holy.
Amen."
-St. Augustine
14 October 2007
"Clearly, what God wants above all is our will which we received as a free gift from God in creation and possess as though our own. When a man trains himself to acts of virtue, it is with the help of grace from God from whom all good things come that he does this. The will is what man has as his unique possession."
-Saint Joseph of Cupertino
-Saint Joseph of Cupertino
03 October 2007
I Corinthians 9:19-23
"For though I am free from all men, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win the more; and to the Jews I became as a Jew, that I might win Jews; to those who are under the law, as under the law, that I might win those who are under the law; to those who are without law, as without law (not being without law toward God, but under law toward Christ), that I might win those who are without law; to the weak I became as weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all men, that I might by all means save some. Now this I do for the gospel's sake, that I may be partaker of it with you."
01 October 2007
06 September 2007
In the Middle.
His teacher looked over his over shoulder to find that he was reading the last page.
Then she asked him, "Finished it already, have you now?"
"No, not really. I read the first and last pages," He replied.
His teacher then asked, "Now why would you do that?"
"I like to find the end in the beginning and the beginning in the end. It's the mark of a good story," He said.
His teacher forced out a wry yet caring smile and said to him,
"That is true, but in time you'll come to realize that what is in the middle is just as important."
Then she asked him, "Finished it already, have you now?"
"No, not really. I read the first and last pages," He replied.
His teacher then asked, "Now why would you do that?"
"I like to find the end in the beginning and the beginning in the end. It's the mark of a good story," He said.
His teacher forced out a wry yet caring smile and said to him,
"That is true, but in time you'll come to realize that what is in the middle is just as important."
02 September 2007
Journey of the Magi
'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death,
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
-T.S. Eliot
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death,
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
-T.S. Eliot
31 August 2007
Pascal, we meet again.
"Happiness is neither without us nor within us. It is in God, both without us and within us."
Nostalgia
Nostalgia is this:
It's slouching in a chair at around midnight trying to relieve a severe case of writer's block (without much avail), when a dusty black case catches your eye. Nostalgia is half knowing what's inside and half frantically pulling the case out of the clutches of cobwebs, boxes, and furniture. It's opening the case and finding a long and lanky brass instrument that is both familiar and foreign. Nostalgia is putting the instrument together as if you'd known it for years but running your eyes up and down it as if you were seeing it for the very first time. Tilting your head in child-like wonder, you smile as if greeting an old friend, and you are unaware that your fingers have already fallen into the proper place. Nostalgia is giddily scouring the guest room for sheet music only to find yourself blowing dust off black and white keys, and when you've finally found some music, you laugh to yourself and realize that you still recognize the notes even though you can only read the bass clef. It's being unable to discern what is new and what is old for they've collided in beautiful clash of sounds, happiness, and a loss for words. Nostalgia is rediscovering music and all the young awe and fascination that first came with it and still remains.
It's slouching in a chair at around midnight trying to relieve a severe case of writer's block (without much avail), when a dusty black case catches your eye. Nostalgia is half knowing what's inside and half frantically pulling the case out of the clutches of cobwebs, boxes, and furniture. It's opening the case and finding a long and lanky brass instrument that is both familiar and foreign. Nostalgia is putting the instrument together as if you'd known it for years but running your eyes up and down it as if you were seeing it for the very first time. Tilting your head in child-like wonder, you smile as if greeting an old friend, and you are unaware that your fingers have already fallen into the proper place. Nostalgia is giddily scouring the guest room for sheet music only to find yourself blowing dust off black and white keys, and when you've finally found some music, you laugh to yourself and realize that you still recognize the notes even though you can only read the bass clef. It's being unable to discern what is new and what is old for they've collided in beautiful clash of sounds, happiness, and a loss for words. Nostalgia is rediscovering music and all the young awe and fascination that first came with it and still remains.
25 August 2007
Glass
At best,
I am but glass.
A pane,
Without protection,
Fragile and easily broken,
Showing only that which is the Lord's.
In Him I have all things,
A frame and a purpose,
Lucid and washed,
A window.
I am but glass.
A pane,
Without protection,
Fragile and easily broken,
Showing only that which is the Lord's.
In Him I have all things,
A frame and a purpose,
Lucid and washed,
A window.
15 August 2007
Work in Progress (or Less Serious Conversations on Straws)
My fingers sorted through the small bag of birdseed, carefully trying to gather equal amounts of each particular kind of seed before tossing it to the birds. The seed produced quite an audience some of which simply gazed over the generous feast before them only to leave, followed only by my quiet curses condemning them for their imprudent ingratitude. My grumblings to the reprobate birds generally took its toll on my demeanor often leading people to believe that I desired to be left alone. Of course, I cannot blame it solely on the birds, because it was I talking to them and not the other way around. Not to mention the fact that when talking to birds, a man is usually found in his most foolish state.
Adults are not much more different than children. We never left the playground. When we’re at the office we play tag. Hoping that we won’t be “it,” we pass the work that should have been last week on to the poor new guy hiding in cubicle four. When we’re alone, we still pretend to build impenetrable forts with moats and towers. We claim space that’s not ours to really claim, stake it as own, and start building boundaries and walls around ourselves, but we forget to build windows or doors. However, children are immune to the fortresses of adults, or rather, they are Trojan Horses. We think them innocent enough to let them within our bounds only to realize, all too late, that they’ve conquered our hearts.
When the seed was gone and my flighty, feathered audience had left, a little girl shuffled over to the opposite end of the bench, which I was, up until recently, surrounding with castle walls. Not seeing any imminent threat from her, I simply worked on putting the finishing touches on the moat and towers. With grace that can only be understood as childlike, she propped herself up on the bench. She had carried with her a glass bottle of pop that she could barely fit both her hands around. She took a sip from the straw that was inserted into the bottle, and her legs began to swing back and forth like she was on a swing-set. After a while, she looked my direction and asked, “Hey Mister, what’s a straw?”
Quite comically baffled, I half-heartedly asked, “What do you mean? Do you mean, what’s it made of?” “No, I don’t mean that,” she said, “I mean—um—I mean, what makes a straw a straw?” Still somewhat taken back, I tried to answer her question, “Well, straws are hollow tubes that are usually made out of plastic that we use to drink liquid out of glasses and bottles, like the one you’ve got there.” With a look of total dissatisfaction, she asked, “Why don’t we call them tubes then?” “Because not all tubes are used for drinking,” I replied. Her brow furrowed a bit more and she said, “But not all straws are used for drinking. Some boys in my class use straws to shoot spit-wads at the teacher. Does that mean those aren’t straws anymore?” I smiled and said, “No, those are still straws (I guess). They’re just not being used in the right way.” I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth before she asked, “How do you know if they’re being used in the right way or not?” I paused for a bit and began to say, “Well the way the boys in your class use straws is bad, and the way that you’re using your straw is good, because you’re using it to drink.” She then asked, “But what about when I’m not using it for anything bad but just for something fun like blowing bubbles in my soda or making gurgling sounds when there’s only ice left in my cup? Is that bad?” “No, it’s not bad. It’s just not the right way,” I replied. “But I thought that the wrong way was bad and the right way was good,” the girl said rather inquisitively. “Yes, that does seem a bit off,” I said, “Why isn’t it that way?” We sat for while, silent, watching a man play fetch with his dog. Finally breaking the silence, the girl asked me, “So have you figured out what a straw is yet?” I laughed and told her I was working on it. Then I asked her, “Have you?” She replied with a rather optimistic “Nope!” “What makes a straw a straw? It’s not just its shape or make nor is it just its function or how it’s used. But we can agree that straws can be used for good or bad purposes, so we’d have to say that straws are inherently good to begin with. Although, that doesn’t really answer the question, does it? So, let’s see. What’s so neat about straws? Well, like you said before, without straws we couldn’t make gurgling sounds or blow bubbles in our drinks. Straws also save us from embarrassing encounters with the ice and that little bit of liquid that always gets stuck at the bottom of our cups or glasses and waits to fall on us once we’ve tilted our heads too far back—the thing about straws is this: they have a given design and a determined function but it doesn’t define or limit them in what they can be used for. Straws share the likeness and similarity to tubes, but we don’t call straws tubes because calling a straw a tube would be like calling a dog a wolf. Straws have inherited a relationship with us that now separates them from other objects that may feign at being straws, like tubes or hoses.” I paused to look over at the little girl who had now finished off the bottle of pop, and I asked her, “Does that make sense?” She looked over at me and said, “Sort of, but I’m still kind of wondering what a straw is.” The little girl then slid off the bench and started walking over to the playground.
Adults are not much more different than children. We never left the playground. When we’re at the office we play tag. Hoping that we won’t be “it,” we pass the work that should have been last week on to the poor new guy hiding in cubicle four. When we’re alone, we still pretend to build impenetrable forts with moats and towers. We claim space that’s not ours to really claim, stake it as own, and start building boundaries and walls around ourselves, but we forget to build windows or doors. However, children are immune to the fortresses of adults, or rather, they are Trojan Horses. We think them innocent enough to let them within our bounds only to realize, all too late, that they’ve conquered our hearts.
When the seed was gone and my flighty, feathered audience had left, a little girl shuffled over to the opposite end of the bench, which I was, up until recently, surrounding with castle walls. Not seeing any imminent threat from her, I simply worked on putting the finishing touches on the moat and towers. With grace that can only be understood as childlike, she propped herself up on the bench. She had carried with her a glass bottle of pop that she could barely fit both her hands around. She took a sip from the straw that was inserted into the bottle, and her legs began to swing back and forth like she was on a swing-set. After a while, she looked my direction and asked, “Hey Mister, what’s a straw?”
Quite comically baffled, I half-heartedly asked, “What do you mean? Do you mean, what’s it made of?” “No, I don’t mean that,” she said, “I mean—um—I mean, what makes a straw a straw?” Still somewhat taken back, I tried to answer her question, “Well, straws are hollow tubes that are usually made out of plastic that we use to drink liquid out of glasses and bottles, like the one you’ve got there.” With a look of total dissatisfaction, she asked, “Why don’t we call them tubes then?” “Because not all tubes are used for drinking,” I replied. Her brow furrowed a bit more and she said, “But not all straws are used for drinking. Some boys in my class use straws to shoot spit-wads at the teacher. Does that mean those aren’t straws anymore?” I smiled and said, “No, those are still straws (I guess). They’re just not being used in the right way.” I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth before she asked, “How do you know if they’re being used in the right way or not?” I paused for a bit and began to say, “Well the way the boys in your class use straws is bad, and the way that you’re using your straw is good, because you’re using it to drink.” She then asked, “But what about when I’m not using it for anything bad but just for something fun like blowing bubbles in my soda or making gurgling sounds when there’s only ice left in my cup? Is that bad?” “No, it’s not bad. It’s just not the right way,” I replied. “But I thought that the wrong way was bad and the right way was good,” the girl said rather inquisitively. “Yes, that does seem a bit off,” I said, “Why isn’t it that way?” We sat for while, silent, watching a man play fetch with his dog. Finally breaking the silence, the girl asked me, “So have you figured out what a straw is yet?” I laughed and told her I was working on it. Then I asked her, “Have you?” She replied with a rather optimistic “Nope!” “What makes a straw a straw? It’s not just its shape or make nor is it just its function or how it’s used. But we can agree that straws can be used for good or bad purposes, so we’d have to say that straws are inherently good to begin with. Although, that doesn’t really answer the question, does it? So, let’s see. What’s so neat about straws? Well, like you said before, without straws we couldn’t make gurgling sounds or blow bubbles in our drinks. Straws also save us from embarrassing encounters with the ice and that little bit of liquid that always gets stuck at the bottom of our cups or glasses and waits to fall on us once we’ve tilted our heads too far back—the thing about straws is this: they have a given design and a determined function but it doesn’t define or limit them in what they can be used for. Straws share the likeness and similarity to tubes, but we don’t call straws tubes because calling a straw a tube would be like calling a dog a wolf. Straws have inherited a relationship with us that now separates them from other objects that may feign at being straws, like tubes or hoses.” I paused to look over at the little girl who had now finished off the bottle of pop, and I asked her, “Does that make sense?” She looked over at me and said, “Sort of, but I’m still kind of wondering what a straw is.” The little girl then slid off the bench and started walking over to the playground.
12 August 2007
"If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always."
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always."
10 August 2007
Any Prince to Any Princess
August is coming
and the goose, I'm afraid,
is getting fat.
There have been
no golden eggs for some months now.
Straw has fallen well below market price
despite my frantic spinning
and the sedge is,
as you rightly point out,
withered.
I can't imagine how the pea
got under your mattress. I apologize
humbly. The chambermaid has, of course,
been sacked. As has the frog footman.
I understand that, during my recent fact-finding tour of the
Golden River,
despite your nightly unavailing efforts,
he remained obstinately
froggish.
I hope that the Three Wishes granted by the General
Assembly
will go some way towards redressing
this unfortunate recent sequence of events.
The fall in output from the shoe-factory, for example:
no one could have foreseen the work-to-rule
by the National Union of Elves. Not to mention the fact
that the court has been fast asleep
for the last six and a half years.
The matter of the poisoned apple has been taken up
by the Board of Trade: I think I can assure you
the incident will not be
repeated.
I can quite understand, in the circumstances,
your reluctance to let down
your golden tresses. However
I feel I must point out
that the weather isn't getting any better
and I already have a nasty chill
from waiting at the base
of the White Tower. You must see
the absurdity of the
situation.
Some of the courtiers are beginning to talk,
not to mention the humble villagers.
It's been three weeks now, and not even
a word.
Princess,
a cold, black wind
howls through our empty palace.
Dead leaves litter the bedchamber;
the mirror on the wall hasn't said a thing
since you left. I can only ask,
bearing all this in mind,
that you think again,
let down your hair,
reconsider.
-Adrian Henri
(Satire is a guilty pleasure. Although, it should not be over indulged.)
and the goose, I'm afraid,
is getting fat.
There have been
no golden eggs for some months now.
Straw has fallen well below market price
despite my frantic spinning
and the sedge is,
as you rightly point out,
withered.
I can't imagine how the pea
got under your mattress. I apologize
humbly. The chambermaid has, of course,
been sacked. As has the frog footman.
I understand that, during my recent fact-finding tour of the
Golden River,
despite your nightly unavailing efforts,
he remained obstinately
froggish.
I hope that the Three Wishes granted by the General
Assembly
will go some way towards redressing
this unfortunate recent sequence of events.
The fall in output from the shoe-factory, for example:
no one could have foreseen the work-to-rule
by the National Union of Elves. Not to mention the fact
that the court has been fast asleep
for the last six and a half years.
The matter of the poisoned apple has been taken up
by the Board of Trade: I think I can assure you
the incident will not be
repeated.
I can quite understand, in the circumstances,
your reluctance to let down
your golden tresses. However
I feel I must point out
that the weather isn't getting any better
and I already have a nasty chill
from waiting at the base
of the White Tower. You must see
the absurdity of the
situation.
Some of the courtiers are beginning to talk,
not to mention the humble villagers.
It's been three weeks now, and not even
a word.
Princess,
a cold, black wind
howls through our empty palace.
Dead leaves litter the bedchamber;
the mirror on the wall hasn't said a thing
since you left. I can only ask,
bearing all this in mind,
that you think again,
let down your hair,
reconsider.
-Adrian Henri
(Satire is a guilty pleasure. Although, it should not be over indulged.)
29 July 2007
Counseling
I've asked a fair number of people about the function of a church, and I've been able to get a diverse group of satisfying answers so far. Naturally, I can never stay completely satisfied, so I continue to seek out more answers. I went to a discussion last night concerning pastoral counseling. It was a very interesting discussion, but it led me to think to think about another valuable element of church function--counseling. As a side note, I believe Calvin really touched on the church function topic in this quote,
"Because it is now our intention to discuss the visible church, let us learn from the simple title “mother” how useful, indeed necessary, it is that we should know her. For there is no other way to enter life unless this mother conceive us in her womb, give us birth, nourish us at her breast, and lastly, unless she keep us under her care and guidance until, putting off mortal flesh, we become like the angels (Matthew 22:30). Our weakness does not allow us to be dismissed from her school until we have been pupils all our lives. . . . God’s fatherly favor and the especial witness of spiritual life are limited to his flock, so that it is always disastrous to leave the church."
"Because it is now our intention to discuss the visible church, let us learn from the simple title “mother” how useful, indeed necessary, it is that we should know her. For there is no other way to enter life unless this mother conceive us in her womb, give us birth, nourish us at her breast, and lastly, unless she keep us under her care and guidance until, putting off mortal flesh, we become like the angels (Matthew 22:30). Our weakness does not allow us to be dismissed from her school until we have been pupils all our lives. . . . God’s fatherly favor and the especial witness of spiritual life are limited to his flock, so that it is always disastrous to leave the church."
Center and Circumference
"From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy."
Psalm 61:2-3
He is my tower, my firm foundation, my rock. He is all these things and more. He is the epitome and the focal point; moreover, He is the center. He makes simile possible, because even the most seemingly un-finite conception of Him would still fall drastically short in grasping His oneness. So as I stand here in this field dumbstruck, feeling the grit that is my body and bones shake and stir, I throw my feet backwards in some hopes that I might remotely fathom what He wholly is; only to realize how much more I do not know. The beauty of this being not reveling in my finiteness or my depravity. No. The beauty of this is that He covers and consumes me. The center becomes the circumference. He protects and guards me. Even in the wake of a battle I should not have fought alone when I am beaten, battered, and broken by sin (and still too proud to see it), He puts me on His shoulders and carries me like the cross. He is my Lord and my Savior. He is the center and the circumference.
Psalm 61:2-3
He is my tower, my firm foundation, my rock. He is all these things and more. He is the epitome and the focal point; moreover, He is the center. He makes simile possible, because even the most seemingly un-finite conception of Him would still fall drastically short in grasping His oneness. So as I stand here in this field dumbstruck, feeling the grit that is my body and bones shake and stir, I throw my feet backwards in some hopes that I might remotely fathom what He wholly is; only to realize how much more I do not know. The beauty of this being not reveling in my finiteness or my depravity. No. The beauty of this is that He covers and consumes me. The center becomes the circumference. He protects and guards me. Even in the wake of a battle I should not have fought alone when I am beaten, battered, and broken by sin (and still too proud to see it), He puts me on His shoulders and carries me like the cross. He is my Lord and my Savior. He is the center and the circumference.
21 July 2007
Family Reunion.
Family Reunions are a patchwork quilt of stories, tastes, and characters that have a single genealogical thread sewn throughout them. Family Reunions are a good time to sample your Aunt's prize winning casserole only to secretly realize that your Mom's is better. Family Reunions also remind you why your family decided to only have one once a year--or two. Most of all, Family Reunions are the only time where you can truly say, "It's all relative(s)."
14 July 2007
Stoicism and War
It had been on my mind lately what was mentioned earlier this week about Stoicism and association with the military, and while I wandered through religion and philosophy section at the library today I found a book simply titled Stoic Warriors that was authored by Nancy Sherman. It seemed like a fairly interesting read from what I was able to flip through. The author touched on the connection between Military determination, dedication, and drive (summed up in phrases like "Suck it up!" and "Have a stiff upper lip" as the Brits would say) and the writings and thoughts of Roman Stoics such as Seneca, Epictetus, and Marucs Aurelius just to name a few. Anyhow, the book seemed worthwhile however Boethius and Philosophy weighed heavily upon me so I set the book down with hopes of returning to it. The author did reference poems that touch on the subject matter and I particular found interesting so I'll post one of them up now.
"Insensibility"
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.
III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.
V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.
VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears.
-Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)
"Insensibility"
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.
III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.
V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.
VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears.
-Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)
13 July 2007
Three More From the Attic
I remember how a good friend of mine was thoroughly perplexed as to why I decided to alter what could have been a perfectly sappy short poem into a borderline-cynical ode to office supplies and glue. I guess I just have thing for office supplies...
I’m busy
Papers stacked a mile high,
Goodness gracious they're touching the sky.
oh my, oh my the white out is dry.
Pens galore and,
Books a million score.
Staplers here.
Sharpeners there.
Erasers and Highlighters too
...but if only, if only I could get a glance, a call, a whisper or two
Never does a moment pass without thinking of glue.
I don't have much to say about this one. I believe this was pre-Eliot-Enlightment and also pre-Patrick-has-lost-the-desire-to-rhyme.
The Waiting Room
tapping my foot to the rhythm of the second hand
sitting here half drowned in bated breath
hoping for each minute to pass faster
done all there is to do
skimmed last month's magazines,
a dozen times through.
at the cuff of the seat
waiting to hear my name
"pa...
...tricia"
or so i could only wish
the road trip syndrome setting in
are we there yet?
are we there yet?
bouncing around in my head.
good news—bad news
better than no news
i need advice,
and that's a fact!
"the doctor is always on time"
they say.
"He's the best in town"
said lula may.
i wish so; He would not tarry
read His book
till the edges were hairy
mending hearts is His practice,
saving souls from the great abyss.
He sure is one, I dare not miss.
so this is the story of the waiting room,
the bride a waiting for her groom.
This one is a modified and exaggerated dialogue that I always wished would be turned into a comic.
“I needed to make a statement.
A statement that would say,
‘Down with Pseudo-Democracy and Presidential Puppetry!
I’m the new leader of the free-freaking-world,
and I love Halfway Communism and Ruthless Military Tyrants!’”
“Let me get this straight. You wanted to make a passionate, persuasive statement, for the entire world to see—”
“Uh huh.”
“So you set fire to the school cafeteria…”
“Precisely!”
“For Pete’s sake, the lunch ladies are mourning of their now smoldering humble abode, not to mention, their ten year’s supply of plastic spatulas and hairnets.”
“Remember the great words of Mr. Jefferson. ‘The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’”
I’m busy
Papers stacked a mile high,
Goodness gracious they're touching the sky.
oh my, oh my the white out is dry.
Pens galore and,
Books a million score.
Staplers here.
Sharpeners there.
Erasers and Highlighters too
...but if only, if only I could get a glance, a call, a whisper or two
Never does a moment pass without thinking of glue.
I don't have much to say about this one. I believe this was pre-Eliot-Enlightment and also pre-Patrick-has-lost-the-desire-to-rhyme.
The Waiting Room
tapping my foot to the rhythm of the second hand
sitting here half drowned in bated breath
hoping for each minute to pass faster
done all there is to do
skimmed last month's magazines,
a dozen times through.
at the cuff of the seat
waiting to hear my name
"pa...
...tricia"
or so i could only wish
the road trip syndrome setting in
are we there yet?
are we there yet?
bouncing around in my head.
good news—bad news
better than no news
i need advice,
and that's a fact!
"the doctor is always on time"
they say.
"He's the best in town"
said lula may.
i wish so; He would not tarry
read His book
till the edges were hairy
mending hearts is His practice,
saving souls from the great abyss.
He sure is one, I dare not miss.
so this is the story of the waiting room,
the bride a waiting for her groom.
This one is a modified and exaggerated dialogue that I always wished would be turned into a comic.
“I needed to make a statement.
A statement that would say,
‘Down with Pseudo-Democracy and Presidential Puppetry!
I’m the new leader of the free-freaking-world,
and I love Halfway Communism and Ruthless Military Tyrants!’”
“Let me get this straight. You wanted to make a passionate, persuasive statement, for the entire world to see—”
“Uh huh.”
“So you set fire to the school cafeteria…”
“Precisely!”
“For Pete’s sake, the lunch ladies are mourning of their now smoldering humble abode, not to mention, their ten year’s supply of plastic spatulas and hairnets.”
“Remember the great words of Mr. Jefferson. ‘The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’”
10 July 2007
Old and Dusty
It's amazing, what you'll find on an old computer hard drive. I dug up some rather dated word documents, most of which were fireplace worthy, but some were worth keeping around, so I'll post them up as I see fit for nostalgia's sake:
The Cubicle Cats
-for Thomas Stearns
They are the cubicle cats
They are the pencil pushers
Milling about
Heart-valve heaped with ash
Such sinking hearts
Veins dry, colour-blind, emaciate dreams
This is the simpleton hovel
This is the workspace parade
Here the plastic keys
Are pushed, here they receive
The attention of comatose appendages
Under the flicker of a fluorescent bulb
The dreams are not here
There are no dreams here
In this reciprocal of lost years
This paper jam of their lost loves
Between the heart
And soul
Between the empty
And full
Lies the grey-truth
This is the office peddlers’ end
Not with a death but a cubicle.
Shoelaces
Years ago, a farsighted old fogey lived across the street from us.
he’d tell us everyday the dreams
he bore up in that beautiful mind of his
such perfect dreams.
he saw every sunrise and sunset
each microcosm in every day
and every amount of quips and notions
involving those lost ideologies
he’d tell us how he saw
outside the smog, the city, and
the dreary punch in/out log
searching the horizon line he’d see
peace, love, joy, and chivalry…
and tell us the most poetic rhetoric
that some would say,
could even soothe the broken heart.
but I’ll tell you one thing the man never did see
he never saw that
every morning when he shuffled out his door
his shoes were untied.
The Cubicle Cats
-for Thomas Stearns
They are the cubicle cats
They are the pencil pushers
Milling about
Heart-valve heaped with ash
Such sinking hearts
Veins dry, colour-blind, emaciate dreams
This is the simpleton hovel
This is the workspace parade
Here the plastic keys
Are pushed, here they receive
The attention of comatose appendages
Under the flicker of a fluorescent bulb
The dreams are not here
There are no dreams here
In this reciprocal of lost years
This paper jam of their lost loves
Between the heart
And soul
Between the empty
And full
Lies the grey-truth
This is the office peddlers’ end
Not with a death but a cubicle.
Shoelaces
Years ago, a farsighted old fogey lived across the street from us.
he’d tell us everyday the dreams
he bore up in that beautiful mind of his
such perfect dreams.
he saw every sunrise and sunset
each microcosm in every day
and every amount of quips and notions
involving those lost ideologies
he’d tell us how he saw
outside the smog, the city, and
the dreary punch in/out log
searching the horizon line he’d see
peace, love, joy, and chivalry…
and tell us the most poetic rhetoric
that some would say,
could even soothe the broken heart.
but I’ll tell you one thing the man never did see
he never saw that
every morning when he shuffled out his door
his shoes were untied.
08 July 2007
Let's Talk Flowers...
Here’s a bit of a cut and paste history of the Five Points of Calvinism (aka TULIP):
A controversy in Dutch churches triggered by the rise of Arminianism prompted the National Synod held in Dordrecht in 1618, which is more concisely known as the Synod of Dort. The main purpose of the Synod of Dort was to settle the controversy stirred up by Arminianism and its followers. After his death, the followers of Jacob Arminius expressed objections to both the Belgic Confession (Confession of Faith) and the teaching of John Calvin, Theodore Beza, and their followers. Furthermore, the objections against Calvinism were compiled together and published as The Remonstrance of 1610 (proponents of said document were thus called Remonstrants). In short, the document outlined the Five Articles of Remonstrance. In strictly basic and concise form, they appear as follows:
1. That the divine decree of predestination is conditional, not absolute;
2. That the Atonement is in intention universal;
3. That man cannot of himself exercise a saving faith;
4. That though the grace of God is a necessary condition of human effort it does not act irresistibly in man and
5. That believers are able to resist sin but are not beyond the possibility of falling from grace.
In conclusion, the Synod of Dort rejected these views. In turn they established their own set of five points based on Reformed doctrine. These points were: total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, and the perseverance of the saints, or as we now refer to them as the mnemonic TULIP or the Five Points of Calvinsim. Furthermore, “The Canons are not intended to be a comprehensive explanation of Reformed doctrine, but only an exposition on the five points of doctrine in dispute.”
Just to expound a bit more I’d like to just take the opportunity to add some quick and most likely unsubstantial definitions to each point represented by TULIP since their titles alone can’t really answer for themselves.
Total Depravity- "Man, by his fall Into a state of sin, hath wholly lost all ability of will to any spiritual good accompanying salvation; so as a natural man, being altogether averse from good, and dead in sin, is not able, by his own strength, to convert himself, or to prepare himself thereunto." -From the Westminster Confession
Unconditional Election- “God does not base His election on anything He sees in the individual. He chooses the elect according to the kind intention of His will (Eph. 1:4-8; Rom. 9:11) without any consideration of merit within the individual. Nor does God look into the future to see who would pick Him. Also, as some are elected into salvation, others are not (Rom. 9:15, 21).”
Limited Atonement- “Jesus died only for the elect. Though Jesus’ sacrifice was sufficient for all, it was not efficacious for all. Jesus only bore the sins of the elect. Support for this position is drawn from such scriptures as Matt. 26:28 where Jesus died for ‘many'; John 10:11, 15 which say that Jesus died for the sheep (not the goats, per Matt. 25:32-33); John 17:9 where Jesus in prayer interceded for the ones given Him, not those of the entire world; Acts 20:28 and Eph. 5:25-27 which state that the Church was purchased by Christ, not all people; and Isaiah 53:12 which is a prophecy of Jesus’ crucifixion where he would bore the sins of many (not all).” I know what you may be thinking; the verses mentioned are somewhat unsubstantial. I’ll try to get back to it later but I’d like to mention that the premises of this doctrine heavily rely on unconditional election, in which I believe there’s more to be sought out.
Irresistible Grace- "All those whom God has predestinated unto life, and those only, He is pleased, in His appointed and accepted time, effectually to call, by His Word and Spirit, out of that state of death, in which they are by nature, to grace and salvation by Jesus Christ; enlightening their minds spiritually and savingly, to understand the things of God; taking away their heart of stone, and giving them a heart of flesh; renewing their wills, and by His almighty power determining them to that which is good; and effectually drawing them to Jesus Christ, yet so as they come most freely, being made willing by His grace.” “This effectual call is of God's free and special grace alone, not from any thing at all foreseen in man, who is altogether passive therein, until, being quickened and renewed by the Holy Spirit, he is thereby enabled to answer this call, and to embrace the grace offered and conveyed by it."
"Effectual calling is the Work of God's Spirit, whereby, convincing us of our sin and misery, enlightening our minds in the knowledge of Christ, and renewing our wills, He doth persuade and enable us to embrace Jesus Christ, freely offered to us in the Gospel." –from the Westminster Confession and the Shorter Catechism
Perseverance of the Saints- "They whom God hath accepted in His Beloved, effectually called and sanctified by His Spirit, can neither totally nor finally fall away from the state of grace; but shall certainly persevere therein to the end, and be eternally saved." –from the Westminster Confession
Still working on putting together Greek definitions of sin in I John 3:9 as well as consolidating commentaries and views, but that should be up sometime tomorrow. However, it's 0500 and I'm going to get some sleep.
A controversy in Dutch churches triggered by the rise of Arminianism prompted the National Synod held in Dordrecht in 1618, which is more concisely known as the Synod of Dort. The main purpose of the Synod of Dort was to settle the controversy stirred up by Arminianism and its followers. After his death, the followers of Jacob Arminius expressed objections to both the Belgic Confession (Confession of Faith) and the teaching of John Calvin, Theodore Beza, and their followers. Furthermore, the objections against Calvinism were compiled together and published as The Remonstrance of 1610 (proponents of said document were thus called Remonstrants). In short, the document outlined the Five Articles of Remonstrance. In strictly basic and concise form, they appear as follows:
1. That the divine decree of predestination is conditional, not absolute;
2. That the Atonement is in intention universal;
3. That man cannot of himself exercise a saving faith;
4. That though the grace of God is a necessary condition of human effort it does not act irresistibly in man and
5. That believers are able to resist sin but are not beyond the possibility of falling from grace.
In conclusion, the Synod of Dort rejected these views. In turn they established their own set of five points based on Reformed doctrine. These points were: total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, and the perseverance of the saints, or as we now refer to them as the mnemonic TULIP or the Five Points of Calvinsim. Furthermore, “The Canons are not intended to be a comprehensive explanation of Reformed doctrine, but only an exposition on the five points of doctrine in dispute.”
Just to expound a bit more I’d like to just take the opportunity to add some quick and most likely unsubstantial definitions to each point represented by TULIP since their titles alone can’t really answer for themselves.
Total Depravity- "Man, by his fall Into a state of sin, hath wholly lost all ability of will to any spiritual good accompanying salvation; so as a natural man, being altogether averse from good, and dead in sin, is not able, by his own strength, to convert himself, or to prepare himself thereunto." -From the Westminster Confession
Unconditional Election- “God does not base His election on anything He sees in the individual. He chooses the elect according to the kind intention of His will (Eph. 1:4-8; Rom. 9:11) without any consideration of merit within the individual. Nor does God look into the future to see who would pick Him. Also, as some are elected into salvation, others are not (Rom. 9:15, 21).”
Limited Atonement- “Jesus died only for the elect. Though Jesus’ sacrifice was sufficient for all, it was not efficacious for all. Jesus only bore the sins of the elect. Support for this position is drawn from such scriptures as Matt. 26:28 where Jesus died for ‘many'; John 10:11, 15 which say that Jesus died for the sheep (not the goats, per Matt. 25:32-33); John 17:9 where Jesus in prayer interceded for the ones given Him, not those of the entire world; Acts 20:28 and Eph. 5:25-27 which state that the Church was purchased by Christ, not all people; and Isaiah 53:12 which is a prophecy of Jesus’ crucifixion where he would bore the sins of many (not all).” I know what you may be thinking; the verses mentioned are somewhat unsubstantial. I’ll try to get back to it later but I’d like to mention that the premises of this doctrine heavily rely on unconditional election, in which I believe there’s more to be sought out.
Irresistible Grace- "All those whom God has predestinated unto life, and those only, He is pleased, in His appointed and accepted time, effectually to call, by His Word and Spirit, out of that state of death, in which they are by nature, to grace and salvation by Jesus Christ; enlightening their minds spiritually and savingly, to understand the things of God; taking away their heart of stone, and giving them a heart of flesh; renewing their wills, and by His almighty power determining them to that which is good; and effectually drawing them to Jesus Christ, yet so as they come most freely, being made willing by His grace.” “This effectual call is of God's free and special grace alone, not from any thing at all foreseen in man, who is altogether passive therein, until, being quickened and renewed by the Holy Spirit, he is thereby enabled to answer this call, and to embrace the grace offered and conveyed by it."
"Effectual calling is the Work of God's Spirit, whereby, convincing us of our sin and misery, enlightening our minds in the knowledge of Christ, and renewing our wills, He doth persuade and enable us to embrace Jesus Christ, freely offered to us in the Gospel." –from the Westminster Confession and the Shorter Catechism
Perseverance of the Saints- "They whom God hath accepted in His Beloved, effectually called and sanctified by His Spirit, can neither totally nor finally fall away from the state of grace; but shall certainly persevere therein to the end, and be eternally saved." –from the Westminster Confession
Still working on putting together Greek definitions of sin in I John 3:9 as well as consolidating commentaries and views, but that should be up sometime tomorrow. However, it's 0500 and I'm going to get some sleep.
People
"Just as Martin Luther was a heretic for teachings the necessity of the sacraments for salvation, John Calvin was also a heretic. Calvin taught infant baptism and that the Sacraments were EQUAL with the Word of God. Calvin and Luther BOTH taught baptismal regeneration. Calvin even had people killed for disagreeing with his heresy on infant baptism. So many people today are naive of such men. I've been reading Christian books for years that quote Martin Luther and John Calvin, come to find out they both endorsed the sacraments and infant baptism. There is NO way that such men could be saved because they ADDED works to faith, which is no faith at all. Calvin taught that believers must persevere to the end to be saved. This is works salvation. The reformation was plagued with the remnants of Catholicism, enough to pervert the simple plan of salvation. As I have often said --Martin Luther came out of Catholicism, but Catholicism didn't come out of Martin Luther. The same can definitely be said of John Calvin. Why is it that so many people feel compelled to join existing religions rather than read the Word of God for themselves? It is clear to any knowledgeable Bible student that the "great whore" of Revelation is likely Catholicism." -David J. Stewart
You know, after reading things like this; I'm never quite sure how to feel. If we're talking about base emotions, I can't helping feeling a mixture of sadness, anger, and genuine confusion. I'm not going to completely discredit Stewart's tirade, mostly because I haven't researched it all, but it's not like his arguments really compel me to do so anyway. Like I said, I'm not exactly sure how I should feel or react. The words "Ye shall know them by their fruit" in Matthew 7:16 seem to readily come to mind. I seem to forget often, that although I admire the both the men mentioned above, they were both men, sinners, and by no means perfect. However, that does not mean the accusations listed are any more founded than before, and I will go out on a sturdy limb to say they are not. That being said, people concern me, they do not wholly scare me, anger me, nor do they shake me, but they do wholly concern me, and it causes me to wonder how we've even been allowed to make it this far.
You know, after reading things like this; I'm never quite sure how to feel. If we're talking about base emotions, I can't helping feeling a mixture of sadness, anger, and genuine confusion. I'm not going to completely discredit Stewart's tirade, mostly because I haven't researched it all, but it's not like his arguments really compel me to do so anyway. Like I said, I'm not exactly sure how I should feel or react. The words "Ye shall know them by their fruit" in Matthew 7:16 seem to readily come to mind. I seem to forget often, that although I admire the both the men mentioned above, they were both men, sinners, and by no means perfect. However, that does not mean the accusations listed are any more founded than before, and I will go out on a sturdy limb to say they are not. That being said, people concern me, they do not wholly scare me, anger me, nor do they shake me, but they do wholly concern me, and it causes me to wonder how we've even been allowed to make it this far.
07 July 2007
"America"
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.
Claude McKay
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.
Claude McKay
03 July 2007
Eidolons
1. A phantom; an apparition.
2. An image of an ideal.
of course, there's more to a definition than that, but for the sake of being concise, it's the most effective. suddenly, whitman's poem make's much more sense; of course, whitman being a transcendentalist should have set off the alarms earlier. furthermore, "eidolons" is pronounced "eye-doe-lens."
2. An image of an ideal.
of course, there's more to a definition than that, but for the sake of being concise, it's the most effective. suddenly, whitman's poem make's much more sense; of course, whitman being a transcendentalist should have set off the alarms earlier. furthermore, "eidolons" is pronounced "eye-doe-lens."
02 July 2007
Holy Sonnet XIV
Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
-John Donne
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
-John Donne
01 July 2007
bones, boots, and bowling pins.
when the skeletons are out of the bag they tend to die hard like the cat that got stuck in the closet with the baggage and next to the yoke i wear around my neck that i so eloquently named “bad habits”—or maybe i mixed that up; like the time when the grass was only half as full as the greener glass on the other side.
and he took time in his reply when he said, “Oh, this one. He’s going to re-write history.”
Then my eye-lids open in my palms with the light trickling through the windows in between my fingers: destiny isn’t so hard to think about when the boots aren’t so big.
Sometimes I feel like a bowling pin. If the ball doesn’t get you, the racking machine sure will. But don't let the simil-nalogy distract you. What really matters is: if you were a bowling pin, which way would you face?
and he took time in his reply when he said, “Oh, this one. He’s going to re-write history.”
Then my eye-lids open in my palms with the light trickling through the windows in between my fingers: destiny isn’t so hard to think about when the boots aren’t so big.
Sometimes I feel like a bowling pin. If the ball doesn’t get you, the racking machine sure will. But don't let the simil-nalogy distract you. What really matters is: if you were a bowling pin, which way would you face?
22 June 2007
Tag/Seven
Nick, being the wildly playful one that he is, has “tagged” me, and now I must list out seven facts that you may or may not know about me. So here we go:
1. I’ve inherited a multitude of obscure nicknames. Let’s start with the recent ones: Diddy, Baby Rhino, Corn-fed Boy, Shrek, Scrap Iron, Freight Train, the list goes on. (There’s stories behind but I won’t get into those)
2. For a time, I was an enlightened vegetarian (and I’m still partial to it).
3. I’m a terrible procrastinator.
4. I prefer sofas to beds.
5. I’m a sucker for conspiracy theories, noir fiction, tragedies, anti-heroes and romantic comedies
6. When I’m under stress, I hum, sing, and talk to myself out of nervous habit.
7. “Doppelganger” is my favorite word and literary device.
Now, I’m going to tag David and Jon (If they ever actually read this).
1. I’ve inherited a multitude of obscure nicknames. Let’s start with the recent ones: Diddy, Baby Rhino, Corn-fed Boy, Shrek, Scrap Iron, Freight Train, the list goes on. (There’s stories behind but I won’t get into those)
2. For a time, I was an enlightened vegetarian (and I’m still partial to it).
3. I’m a terrible procrastinator.
4. I prefer sofas to beds.
5. I’m a sucker for conspiracy theories, noir fiction, tragedies, anti-heroes and romantic comedies
6. When I’m under stress, I hum, sing, and talk to myself out of nervous habit.
7. “Doppelganger” is my favorite word and literary device.
Now, I’m going to tag David and Jon (If they ever actually read this).
05 June 2007
shorts
The Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW), or 5.56mm M249 is an individually portable, gas operated, magazine or disintegrating metallic link-belt fed, light machine gun with fixed headspace and quick change barrel feature. The M249 engages point targets out to 800 meters, firing the improved NATO standard 5.56mm cartridge.
--And I named her "Guinevere."
The named seemed fitting considering she remained tried and true for the short time she was detained by me, but in fact, she was destined to leave me eventually.
Procrastination is a heavy-set man in his mid forty's who shows up around June every year and sits on me while I'm trying to sleep. And he tells me, "Just go back to sleep." The fact of the matter is that even though I may be able to tolerate Procrastination for a few hours, he'll eventually weigh me down to a point where I have to kick him off my bed and chase him out the door with a broomstick. Then I can actually get some sleep.
In one day, I was called a "horrible person" by three different people on three separate occasions. I probably deserved it too. Lately, my room mate has deemed me an "a**hole." Mostly because I correct his grammar and criticize his taste in food, women, clothing, and just about everything else in between, so I probably deserve that one too (we actually get along quite well). I guess I've become a "horrible a**hole" (or have always been one), but that's okay. (Pardon my French)
I'm wearing a bow tie on my head. I'm wishing this essay would either write itself or be dead. And that's really all that needs to be said.
--And I named her "Guinevere."
The named seemed fitting considering she remained tried and true for the short time she was detained by me, but in fact, she was destined to leave me eventually.
Procrastination is a heavy-set man in his mid forty's who shows up around June every year and sits on me while I'm trying to sleep. And he tells me, "Just go back to sleep." The fact of the matter is that even though I may be able to tolerate Procrastination for a few hours, he'll eventually weigh me down to a point where I have to kick him off my bed and chase him out the door with a broomstick. Then I can actually get some sleep.
In one day, I was called a "horrible person" by three different people on three separate occasions. I probably deserved it too. Lately, my room mate has deemed me an "a**hole." Mostly because I correct his grammar and criticize his taste in food, women, clothing, and just about everything else in between, so I probably deserve that one too (we actually get along quite well). I guess I've become a "horrible a**hole" (or have always been one), but that's okay. (Pardon my French)
I'm wearing a bow tie on my head. I'm wishing this essay would either write itself or be dead. And that's really all that needs to be said.
21 May 2007
Fumbling For The Light Switch
It seems that as I get older the chances of waking up in a relaxing, pleasant manner are steadily growing slimmer and slimmer. These days I often wake with a startle or a jump and generally with a frantic disposition. This is mostly due to two factors: 1) I usually have commitments that require me to be up and ready before dawn and 2) I awake to my cellphone's ring tone that happens to be the opening guitar solo to Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine." I'm not saying it's a bad song or anything, but I gotta tell you, it's not the most pleasant of sounds to break the morning silence, which is probably why I chose it as my alarm in the first place.
Once Guns N' Roses begins blaring, I shoot up from my bed/couch in a pitch black room, and so the panic ensues. To keep myself from going back to sleep I usually plant my phone the night before in a remote place from where I sleep so I am forced to get up to turn my cell's alarm off. You'd think that I'd have the mental awareness to actually remember where I'd put my cell, but I've found this is seldom the case. As "Sweet Child O' Mine" repeats and repeats, I stumble over my own lazy feet, stub a toe or two on a chair, and desperately try to navigate myself despite my inevitable blindness. After getting some of my bearings back, I fumble around letting my hands desperately search out either the table lamp or the switch on the wall, so that the morning can once again return into some sane state of silence rather than the mini rock concert being held by my phone.
In the same situation as my phone, you'd think that after living in a place for around 27 weeks you'd get the hang of where the light switches and lamps are; unfortunately, I have not (although I must admit that this is probably a problem centralized to me and myself). Try as a I might, I can't see through the blindness and find the light switch. Instead, I end up fumbling and feeling for something--anything, but I can't feel anything. All I feel is a blank cold wall or an empty table, and the song plays on, like a broken recording, as if its only purpose was to mock me and prod me on in my tireless search for light, for clarity, for peace. It is in these brief moments in the early morning while I'm fumbling for the light switch that I can actually fathom what it would be like if there never was a switch to flip, and that, that itself can only be described as utter and complete fear. Not a state of fear, not a type of fear, just fear. When we were young we were afraid of the dark. This fear was often seen as comical or foolish, but this was only because those who were not afraid had come to know that darkness was only temporary. However, I do believe that, like most things that we experienced as children, our fear was in some way a legitimate and sensible reaction.
It's true: while I am here and now there will be darkness. Wherever I may turn darkness may pursue or be for who can deny that I or this place is not jaded, tainted, or consumed by a dark veil? But, at the same time, who can deny a light switch or hope or salvation?
I may not always find that switch right away and there are some days that I believe I would be content asleep in the darkness; nevertheless, that switch will always be there, constant, because it's me who's lost, it's me who is unwilling or unsure, and like waking up every morning, it's a daily search--fumbling for the light switch.
Once Guns N' Roses begins blaring, I shoot up from my bed/couch in a pitch black room, and so the panic ensues. To keep myself from going back to sleep I usually plant my phone the night before in a remote place from where I sleep so I am forced to get up to turn my cell's alarm off. You'd think that I'd have the mental awareness to actually remember where I'd put my cell, but I've found this is seldom the case. As "Sweet Child O' Mine" repeats and repeats, I stumble over my own lazy feet, stub a toe or two on a chair, and desperately try to navigate myself despite my inevitable blindness. After getting some of my bearings back, I fumble around letting my hands desperately search out either the table lamp or the switch on the wall, so that the morning can once again return into some sane state of silence rather than the mini rock concert being held by my phone.
In the same situation as my phone, you'd think that after living in a place for around 27 weeks you'd get the hang of where the light switches and lamps are; unfortunately, I have not (although I must admit that this is probably a problem centralized to me and myself). Try as a I might, I can't see through the blindness and find the light switch. Instead, I end up fumbling and feeling for something--anything, but I can't feel anything. All I feel is a blank cold wall or an empty table, and the song plays on, like a broken recording, as if its only purpose was to mock me and prod me on in my tireless search for light, for clarity, for peace. It is in these brief moments in the early morning while I'm fumbling for the light switch that I can actually fathom what it would be like if there never was a switch to flip, and that, that itself can only be described as utter and complete fear. Not a state of fear, not a type of fear, just fear. When we were young we were afraid of the dark. This fear was often seen as comical or foolish, but this was only because those who were not afraid had come to know that darkness was only temporary. However, I do believe that, like most things that we experienced as children, our fear was in some way a legitimate and sensible reaction.
It's true: while I am here and now there will be darkness. Wherever I may turn darkness may pursue or be for who can deny that I or this place is not jaded, tainted, or consumed by a dark veil? But, at the same time, who can deny a light switch or hope or salvation?
I may not always find that switch right away and there are some days that I believe I would be content asleep in the darkness; nevertheless, that switch will always be there, constant, because it's me who's lost, it's me who is unwilling or unsure, and like waking up every morning, it's a daily search--fumbling for the light switch.
08 April 2007
"I only hang with sheepdogs."
My squad leader and fellow cadet sent this essay to me and the rest of our squad. Personally, I often have trouble verbalizing my own motivations towards the military, but I felt that this essay does a good job expressing some of those motivations as well as analyzing the military's function. Anyway, I enjoyed it, and I felt it was a fairly easy read; so I've deemed it post-worthy.
The following essay was written by Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman,
U.S. Army (Ret.) Director, Killology Research Group (www.killology.com).
Colonel Grossman is a somewhat controversial figure - he authored the book -
"On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society"
On Sheep, Sheepdogs, and Wolves
By Dave Grossman
One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: "Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident." This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another.
Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.
Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.
I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.
"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there that will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.
"Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."...
If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.
Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, which is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.
But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.
The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.
Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."Until the wolf shows up! Then the entire flock tries desperately to
hide behind one lonely sheepdog.
The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.
Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember howAmerica, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?
Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones.
Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.
There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population.
There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.
Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.
Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. -- From sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.
"Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
"There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men." - Edmund Burke
Here is the point I like to emphasize; especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.
If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest,safety, trust, or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.
For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.
I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend ifhe carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texasin 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy's body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.
Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?"
It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.
Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn't bring your gun, you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear, helplessness, and horror at your moment of truth.
Gavin de Becker puts it like this in "Fear Less," his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: "...denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling."
Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.
And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes.
If you are warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself... "Baa."
This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically, at your moment of truth.
The following essay was written by Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman,
U.S. Army (Ret.) Director, Killology Research Group (www.killology.com).
Colonel Grossman is a somewhat controversial figure - he authored the book -
"On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society"
On Sheep, Sheepdogs, and Wolves
By Dave Grossman
One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: "Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident." This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another.
Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.
Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.
I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.
"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there that will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.
"Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."...
If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.
Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, which is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.
But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.
The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.
Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."Until the wolf shows up! Then the entire flock tries desperately to
hide behind one lonely sheepdog.
The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.
Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember howAmerica, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?
Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones.
Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.
There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population.
There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.
Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.
Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. -- From sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.
"Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
"There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men." - Edmund Burke
Here is the point I like to emphasize; especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.
If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest,safety, trust, or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.
For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.
I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend ifhe carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texasin 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy's body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"
Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.
Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?"
It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.
Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn't bring your gun, you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear, helplessness, and horror at your moment of truth.
Gavin de Becker puts it like this in "Fear Less," his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: "...denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling."
Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.
And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes.
If you are warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself... "Baa."
This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically, at your moment of truth.
24 March 2007
music library
When I browse through my music library,
I realize that 98% of the music was given or suggested to me by other people. I realize that I never get rid of music that has been given to me. I realize that some bands, albums, and songs I initially and legitimately despised, but over time they’ve grown on me. Likewise, the people who gave me this music I, at one time, equally loathed, but like their music, they too have grown on me in an amazingly inexplicable way. Then I go on to realize that there were some songs I instantly enjoyed and found myself humming on a daily basis, and it seems as if those who gave me this part of my music library, I found myself drawn to even before the very minute I met them, and I can honestly say I could enjoy their company daily. I realize that in life there are many guilty, innocent pleasures, and many of them can be found in my music library. I realize I am my mother’s son, because when things get stressful, I catch myself listening to The Beatles; and I realize that I am my father’s son, because I find inspiration in Bob Dylan. I see my friends in my music; I remember the story behind each song, and I remember the very first time I was compelled or forced to that particular song. I realize my roots. I realize how I got here. I realize that there’s more to come. So if you’ve ever burned a cd for me or casually suggested some no-name band, know this: When the band starts to play and I hold my headphones tight to my hears in an attempt to hear every beat and strum and I try to sing along with the song the best I can and I hum when I can’t, I remember you; and as foolish as it sounds, I like your style (and your music too). And I guess what I’m really trying to say here is—“Thanks. You rock.”
I realize that 98% of the music was given or suggested to me by other people. I realize that I never get rid of music that has been given to me. I realize that some bands, albums, and songs I initially and legitimately despised, but over time they’ve grown on me. Likewise, the people who gave me this music I, at one time, equally loathed, but like their music, they too have grown on me in an amazingly inexplicable way. Then I go on to realize that there were some songs I instantly enjoyed and found myself humming on a daily basis, and it seems as if those who gave me this part of my music library, I found myself drawn to even before the very minute I met them, and I can honestly say I could enjoy their company daily. I realize that in life there are many guilty, innocent pleasures, and many of them can be found in my music library. I realize I am my mother’s son, because when things get stressful, I catch myself listening to The Beatles; and I realize that I am my father’s son, because I find inspiration in Bob Dylan. I see my friends in my music; I remember the story behind each song, and I remember the very first time I was compelled or forced to that particular song. I realize my roots. I realize how I got here. I realize that there’s more to come. So if you’ve ever burned a cd for me or casually suggested some no-name band, know this: When the band starts to play and I hold my headphones tight to my hears in an attempt to hear every beat and strum and I try to sing along with the song the best I can and I hum when I can’t, I remember you; and as foolish as it sounds, I like your style (and your music too). And I guess what I’m really trying to say here is—“Thanks. You rock.”
Cosmological
This ended up being a very short summary of the Cosmological Argument (unfortunately it is not without flaw, so pardon for the typos and semi-lack of substance). Personally, I don't believe the cosmological argument is the strongest of arguments for theism, and some objections to the argument should not be ignored. However, the argument is successful in bringing up some very interesting topics that could elaborated upon
Evaluating the Cosmological Argument
The cosmological argument is an a posteriori, theistic argument. First off, an argument that is a posteriori is based upon a premise dependent upon “our experience of the world,” and the premise may only be known by those means. Next, a theistic argument is one that argues in favor of the existence of a theistic God; conjunctively, theism states there exists a being (God) that has four unique, characteristic traits: 1) omnipotence, 2) omniscience, 3) omnibenevolence, and 4) is the creator of everything else that exists. The cosmological argument, as is presented by William Rowe, states: 1) every being (that exists or ever did exist) is either a dependent being or a self-existent being, 2) Not every being can be a dependent being, 3) Therefore, There exists a self-existent being. Now, the cosmological argument is a deductively valid argument, because if its premises are true then its conclusion must also be true; however, just because an argument is deductively valid does not in any sense make it sound. This paper will firstly present and explain the cosmological argument as is portrayed by William Rowe; secondly, this paper will seek to evaluate the cosmological argument by the means of analyzing the argument’s premises. The first portion of this paper, the presentation of the argument, will outline the major and minor premises of the cosmological argument as well as detail the supportive evidence and reasoning behind the premises themselves. The second portion of this paper, the evaluation of the argument, will present and explore any evidence that runs counter to that of the evidence in support of the cosmological argument as well as appraise the integrity of the cosmological argument as discussed by William Rowe.
I.
The first premise of the cosmological argument states that any given being that exists, or ever did exist, is either a dependent being or self-existent being. The reasoning in this first premise is rooted in Anselm’s three cases and basic principle. Anselm establishes three categories that essentially denote that whatever exists has an explanation of existence; these three cases being: a) explained by another (dependent), b) explained by nothing, and c) explained by itself (self-existent). Furthermore, Anselm’s basic principle accepts that whatever exists has an explanation of its existence; therefore, the principle rejects that any sort of “b” could exist or has ever existed. By the eighteenth century, this basic principle was augmented, further elaborated, and named the Principle of Sufficient Reason (PSR). PSR is an adaptation and elaboration of Anselm’s basic principle and now consists of two parts: 1) whatever exists has an explanation of its existence and 2) there must be an explanation to any positive fact whatever. As it is, the proponent of the cosmological argument would naturally accept PSR since the first part of PSR serves as the justification of the cosmological argument’s first premise, and PSR goes on to play a foundational role in the reasoning of the cosmological argument. Lastly, if one accepts PSR in both parts, one should believe premise one of the cosmological argument is in fact true.
The second, and the most crucial, premise of the cosmological argument states that the world could not just contain a causal series of dependent beings; however, the most obvious question raised towards this premise would be, “why not?” In order to explain the supportive reasoning behind premise two, Rowe first sets forth a common, but also often mistaken as substantial, minor premise for the second premise. This minor premise states: 1) There must be a first being to start any causal series, 2) If every being were dependent there would be no first being to start the causal series, 3) Therefore, not every being can be a dependent being. Rowe states that although this argument is valid, the first premise does not take in to account that the causal series of dependent beings could indeed progress (and has progressed) ad infinitum; instead, the first premise relies on the false assumption that a causal series had a starting first member at some point in its past history. After discussing this, Rowe goes on to say that the proponents of the cosmological argument in the eighteenth century recognized that the causal series could indeed be infinite, but they rejected the idea that every being that exists or ever existed is dependent simply because there is a lack of explanation for the series of causal beings or in Rowe’s words, “for the fact that there are and have always been dependent beings.” Lending back to the foundation and conditions of the Principle of Sufficient Reason, the cosmological argument proponent would agree that a causal series of dependent beings does satisfy part one of PSR; although, the series fails in satisfying part two of PSR because the example of dependent beings that have always been producing dependent beings is not a sufficient explanation of the series or the fact there are and have always been dependent beings.
II.
Although Rowe outlines the premises of the cosmological argument with supportive and persuasive evidence, Rowe also points out several points of discussion that are contrary to the evidence provided for the cosmological argument. The criticism of the cosmological argument lies with the justification of the second premise as well as the truth of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. The most prominent criticism of the second premise regards the explanation of the collective series of dependent beings. The eighteenth century, skeptical philosopher, David Hume, best summed up the criticism by stating, “Did I show you the particular causes of each individual in collection of twenty particles of matter, I should think it very unreasonable, should you afterwards ask me, what was the cause of the whole twenty. This is sufficiently explained in explaining the cause of the parts.” Essentially, the criticism is that the explanation of the existence for each dependent being serves as the same explanation for the whole collective of beings. Taking it a step further, one may even say that “the fact that there are and have always been dependent beings” could very well be a fact having no explanation at all, or a brute fact. Unfortunately, as compelling as this criticism may be, it really does not really serve to convince the proponent of the cosmological otherwise simply due to the fact that the criticism relies solely upon an assumption that the proponent would by no means except. This is so because, the proponent of the cosmological argument has already reasoned and holds to the fact that the Principle of Sufficient Reason is in fact true, and any debate over the criticism would not progress by any significant means for both sides. However, this stalemate does illuminate the greater issue and topic of controversy at hand. That issue being the truth of the Principle of Sufficient Reason, which is the fundamental principle behind the cosmological argument. The requirements of PSR support both the first and second premise of the cosmological argument; likewise, if PSR is true the cosmological argument could be considered a deductively valid and sound argument. Unfortunately, PSR is not easily, if at all, shown to be true in an absolute sense. Proponents of PSR and the cosmological argument generally try to defend PSR in two different fashions. The first would be that PSR is known intuitively to be true, and with full understanding and reflection of PSR would lead one to see that it must be true. The issue with the claim that PSR is known intuitively to be true is that this concept is not blatantly accepted by all philosophers, most of which claim that the principle is false. For if PSR was known intuitively true, then there would be none who would claim the principle to be false. Much like the first defense of PSR but with some moderation, the second states that even though PSR is not known intuitively true it is still a basic and rational presumption of reason that people do make regardless of the amount of “sufficient” reflection. Like the first, this second argument also suffers from a fatal flaw. The fatal flaw being that PSR could still very well be false taking in to consideration the fact that even if PSR was presumed as true it would still be a presumption and not a guaranteed truth on the matter.
Without knowing for sure that PSR is true, a proponent of the cosmological argument cannot actually claim its premises are true either. Rowe concludes that since no one has successfully shown that PSR is, without a shadow of a doubt, true, it can be concluded that although the cosmological argument might be sound it still does not provide “good rational ground” to believe there is a being that exists and whose own nature accounts for that existence.
Evaluating the Cosmological Argument
The cosmological argument is an a posteriori, theistic argument. First off, an argument that is a posteriori is based upon a premise dependent upon “our experience of the world,” and the premise may only be known by those means. Next, a theistic argument is one that argues in favor of the existence of a theistic God; conjunctively, theism states there exists a being (God) that has four unique, characteristic traits: 1) omnipotence, 2) omniscience, 3) omnibenevolence, and 4) is the creator of everything else that exists. The cosmological argument, as is presented by William Rowe, states: 1) every being (that exists or ever did exist) is either a dependent being or a self-existent being, 2) Not every being can be a dependent being, 3) Therefore, There exists a self-existent being. Now, the cosmological argument is a deductively valid argument, because if its premises are true then its conclusion must also be true; however, just because an argument is deductively valid does not in any sense make it sound. This paper will firstly present and explain the cosmological argument as is portrayed by William Rowe; secondly, this paper will seek to evaluate the cosmological argument by the means of analyzing the argument’s premises. The first portion of this paper, the presentation of the argument, will outline the major and minor premises of the cosmological argument as well as detail the supportive evidence and reasoning behind the premises themselves. The second portion of this paper, the evaluation of the argument, will present and explore any evidence that runs counter to that of the evidence in support of the cosmological argument as well as appraise the integrity of the cosmological argument as discussed by William Rowe.
I.
The first premise of the cosmological argument states that any given being that exists, or ever did exist, is either a dependent being or self-existent being. The reasoning in this first premise is rooted in Anselm’s three cases and basic principle. Anselm establishes three categories that essentially denote that whatever exists has an explanation of existence; these three cases being: a) explained by another (dependent), b) explained by nothing, and c) explained by itself (self-existent). Furthermore, Anselm’s basic principle accepts that whatever exists has an explanation of its existence; therefore, the principle rejects that any sort of “b” could exist or has ever existed. By the eighteenth century, this basic principle was augmented, further elaborated, and named the Principle of Sufficient Reason (PSR). PSR is an adaptation and elaboration of Anselm’s basic principle and now consists of two parts: 1) whatever exists has an explanation of its existence and 2) there must be an explanation to any positive fact whatever. As it is, the proponent of the cosmological argument would naturally accept PSR since the first part of PSR serves as the justification of the cosmological argument’s first premise, and PSR goes on to play a foundational role in the reasoning of the cosmological argument. Lastly, if one accepts PSR in both parts, one should believe premise one of the cosmological argument is in fact true.
The second, and the most crucial, premise of the cosmological argument states that the world could not just contain a causal series of dependent beings; however, the most obvious question raised towards this premise would be, “why not?” In order to explain the supportive reasoning behind premise two, Rowe first sets forth a common, but also often mistaken as substantial, minor premise for the second premise. This minor premise states: 1) There must be a first being to start any causal series, 2) If every being were dependent there would be no first being to start the causal series, 3) Therefore, not every being can be a dependent being. Rowe states that although this argument is valid, the first premise does not take in to account that the causal series of dependent beings could indeed progress (and has progressed) ad infinitum; instead, the first premise relies on the false assumption that a causal series had a starting first member at some point in its past history. After discussing this, Rowe goes on to say that the proponents of the cosmological argument in the eighteenth century recognized that the causal series could indeed be infinite, but they rejected the idea that every being that exists or ever existed is dependent simply because there is a lack of explanation for the series of causal beings or in Rowe’s words, “for the fact that there are and have always been dependent beings.” Lending back to the foundation and conditions of the Principle of Sufficient Reason, the cosmological argument proponent would agree that a causal series of dependent beings does satisfy part one of PSR; although, the series fails in satisfying part two of PSR because the example of dependent beings that have always been producing dependent beings is not a sufficient explanation of the series or the fact there are and have always been dependent beings.
II.
Although Rowe outlines the premises of the cosmological argument with supportive and persuasive evidence, Rowe also points out several points of discussion that are contrary to the evidence provided for the cosmological argument. The criticism of the cosmological argument lies with the justification of the second premise as well as the truth of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. The most prominent criticism of the second premise regards the explanation of the collective series of dependent beings. The eighteenth century, skeptical philosopher, David Hume, best summed up the criticism by stating, “Did I show you the particular causes of each individual in collection of twenty particles of matter, I should think it very unreasonable, should you afterwards ask me, what was the cause of the whole twenty. This is sufficiently explained in explaining the cause of the parts.” Essentially, the criticism is that the explanation of the existence for each dependent being serves as the same explanation for the whole collective of beings. Taking it a step further, one may even say that “the fact that there are and have always been dependent beings” could very well be a fact having no explanation at all, or a brute fact. Unfortunately, as compelling as this criticism may be, it really does not really serve to convince the proponent of the cosmological otherwise simply due to the fact that the criticism relies solely upon an assumption that the proponent would by no means except. This is so because, the proponent of the cosmological argument has already reasoned and holds to the fact that the Principle of Sufficient Reason is in fact true, and any debate over the criticism would not progress by any significant means for both sides. However, this stalemate does illuminate the greater issue and topic of controversy at hand. That issue being the truth of the Principle of Sufficient Reason, which is the fundamental principle behind the cosmological argument. The requirements of PSR support both the first and second premise of the cosmological argument; likewise, if PSR is true the cosmological argument could be considered a deductively valid and sound argument. Unfortunately, PSR is not easily, if at all, shown to be true in an absolute sense. Proponents of PSR and the cosmological argument generally try to defend PSR in two different fashions. The first would be that PSR is known intuitively to be true, and with full understanding and reflection of PSR would lead one to see that it must be true. The issue with the claim that PSR is known intuitively to be true is that this concept is not blatantly accepted by all philosophers, most of which claim that the principle is false. For if PSR was known intuitively true, then there would be none who would claim the principle to be false. Much like the first defense of PSR but with some moderation, the second states that even though PSR is not known intuitively true it is still a basic and rational presumption of reason that people do make regardless of the amount of “sufficient” reflection. Like the first, this second argument also suffers from a fatal flaw. The fatal flaw being that PSR could still very well be false taking in to consideration the fact that even if PSR was presumed as true it would still be a presumption and not a guaranteed truth on the matter.
Without knowing for sure that PSR is true, a proponent of the cosmological argument cannot actually claim its premises are true either. Rowe concludes that since no one has successfully shown that PSR is, without a shadow of a doubt, true, it can be concluded that although the cosmological argument might be sound it still does not provide “good rational ground” to believe there is a being that exists and whose own nature accounts for that existence.
14 February 2007
the enemy is
the enemy is the enemy is the enemy.
the enemy is the enemy is the enemy.
the enemy is a thing.
the enemy is an idea.
the enemy is a person.
the enemy is my enemy.
the enemy is my friend.
the enemy is a child,
a mother,
a daughter,
a brother.
they sent us out on a mission
armed with guns
and no ammunition.
the enemy is the enemy is the enemy.
the enemy is a thing.
the enemy is an idea.
the enemy is a person.
the enemy is my enemy.
the enemy is my friend.
the enemy is a child,
a mother,
a daughter,
a brother.
they sent us out on a mission
armed with guns
and no ammunition.
11 February 2007
Pearls
He was a somewhat odd sight to behold. Every day I would see him huddled in between the doorway and the adjacent all in what must have been a rather uncomfortable situation; however, he managed to sit in such a way that made it almost appear to be inviting.
And even though it certainly was not the first time I had seen him, it was the first time I had ever taken an acute interest in observing him. However, something made me think that it was not I who was the observer nor was I ever intended to be. Nevertheless, I saw him, and in this one instance he stirred as if readying himself and spoke.
"People can be like pearls. They strive to surround themselves with a seemingly rich and pure luster. They carefully assemble, layer upon layer, walls of pseudo-intellectualism--philosopher so and so's take on this, psychologist somebody's take on that. But it's all elaborate decor to shade the issue. The thought is simple, the explanation is clear, it screams, 'When I do something bad or something that makes me feel guilty, I don't want to take responsibility, but if I do something good and commendable, I want to be responsible.' You see, when it comes down to the core of things, people are sand. Sand--that kind of annoying, wayward, insignificant stuff that's just a chip off the rock, a mere reflection of a grander, greater whole. People aren't as complex as they pretend to be. There's always a deeper issue, a secret inhibition; and we're not talking Freud."
And even though it certainly was not the first time I had seen him, it was the first time I had ever taken an acute interest in observing him. However, something made me think that it was not I who was the observer nor was I ever intended to be. Nevertheless, I saw him, and in this one instance he stirred as if readying himself and spoke.
"People can be like pearls. They strive to surround themselves with a seemingly rich and pure luster. They carefully assemble, layer upon layer, walls of pseudo-intellectualism--philosopher so and so's take on this, psychologist somebody's take on that. But it's all elaborate decor to shade the issue. The thought is simple, the explanation is clear, it screams, 'When I do something bad or something that makes me feel guilty, I don't want to take responsibility, but if I do something good and commendable, I want to be responsible.' You see, when it comes down to the core of things, people are sand. Sand--that kind of annoying, wayward, insignificant stuff that's just a chip off the rock, a mere reflection of a grander, greater whole. People aren't as complex as they pretend to be. There's always a deeper issue, a secret inhibition; and we're not talking Freud."
Isn't It
The Terrible Irony:
A large and substantial number of avid anarchists willingly
assemble in organized groups,
meet on specific,set dates,
and establish a hierarchy
with a prominent, meticulous, and deliberate leader.
So I have to ask,
"Isn't it all terribly ironic?"
A large and substantial number of avid anarchists willingly
assemble in organized groups,
meet on specific,set dates,
and establish a hierarchy
with a prominent, meticulous, and deliberate leader.
So I have to ask,
"Isn't it all terribly ironic?"
17 January 2007
With Open Arms
“So I’m back to the blog scene again…”
“What’s this your third or fourth now?”
“Third—I think? Maybe fourth actually.”
“Too many if you ask me.”
“I have a limit now?”
“No, but I’m here to tell you that there is a limit.
Can’t you see that you’re in a self-destructive cycle?
You need help, and I know some people who can.”
“‘Bloggers Anonymous.’ You have to be kidding.”
ps
Pardon, Dave. Stealing conversations is a nasty habit.
“What’s this your third or fourth now?”
“Third—I think? Maybe fourth actually.”
“Too many if you ask me.”
“I have a limit now?”
“No, but I’m here to tell you that there is a limit.
Can’t you see that you’re in a self-destructive cycle?
You need help, and I know some people who can.”
“‘Bloggers Anonymous.’ You have to be kidding.”
ps
Pardon, Dave. Stealing conversations is a nasty habit.
12 January 2007
feels like 23
So when the weatherman says,
“Tomorrow morning will be 30 degrees,
but it should feel like 23 with the wind.”
And the thermometer beeps on 101.2
I murmur out a promise I know I can’t keep,
“If you get up now and make it through the day,
I promise I’ll sleep all weekend.”
I chuckle. I cough. I groan.
When the alarm starts to blare,
I turn in the sheets and wonder.
I wonder a hundred excuses and a thousand whys.
Then it makes sense,
“You’re in it now.”
And I saunter off to work.
ps
II Corinthians 12:9-10
“Tomorrow morning will be 30 degrees,
but it should feel like 23 with the wind.”
And the thermometer beeps on 101.2
I murmur out a promise I know I can’t keep,
“If you get up now and make it through the day,
I promise I’ll sleep all weekend.”
I chuckle. I cough. I groan.
When the alarm starts to blare,
I turn in the sheets and wonder.
I wonder a hundred excuses and a thousand whys.
Then it makes sense,
“You’re in it now.”
And I saunter off to work.
ps
II Corinthians 12:9-10
05 January 2007
Scuffs
10 o’clock
I sat at the sink cleaning my boots
With brush in hand I worked away in some controlled fervor
Detergent, Brush, Water, Brush.
My mechanical cycle repeated.
Every cycle I would glance down at my watch.
Counting down the minutes
“five minutes,” I chanted
It became a mantra.
“one minute”
I halted to look upon what I thought would be a near perfect creation.
I expected to grin gingerly with a glow of accomplishment.
Instead, a wry frown took over my countenance
as I realized the scuffs and the nicks still remained
and I knew these scuffs ran deeper than the surface
grooving themselves a place of permanence
I knew all of my brushing, scrubbing, scraping, clawing
would only serve to highlight the gouges;
no system or perseverance on my part
could ever cover these
—these scars on my heart.
I sat at the sink cleaning my boots
With brush in hand I worked away in some controlled fervor
Detergent, Brush, Water, Brush.
My mechanical cycle repeated.
Every cycle I would glance down at my watch.
Counting down the minutes
“five minutes,” I chanted
It became a mantra.
“one minute”
I halted to look upon what I thought would be a near perfect creation.
I expected to grin gingerly with a glow of accomplishment.
Instead, a wry frown took over my countenance
as I realized the scuffs and the nicks still remained
and I knew these scuffs ran deeper than the surface
grooving themselves a place of permanence
I knew all of my brushing, scrubbing, scraping, clawing
would only serve to highlight the gouges;
no system or perseverance on my part
could ever cover these
—these scars on my heart.
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