17 night prayer

3 You have tried my heart, you have visited me by night,
you have tested me, and you will find nothing;
I have purposed that my mouth will not transgress.

6 I call upon you, for you will answer me, O God;
incline your ear to me; hear my words.

8 Keep me as the apple of your eye;
hide me in the shadow of your wings,

9 from the wicked who do me violence,
my deadly enemies who surround me.

13 Arise, O Lord! Confront him, subdue him!
Deliver my soul from the wicked by your sword,
14 from men by your hand, O Lord,
from men of the world whose portion is in this life.

15 As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness;
when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness.

-- psalm 17

+

O magnum mysterium,
et admirabile sacramentum,
ut animalia viderent Dominum natum,
iacentem in praesepio!
Beata Virgo, cuius viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum.
Alleluia.

O great mystery,
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the new-born Lord,
lying in a manger!
Blessed is the Virgin whose womb
was worthy to bear
Christ the Lord.
Alleluia!

2:19

"I was kept in solitary confinement in this cell for the next two years. I had nothing to read and no writing materials; I had only my thoughts for company, and I was not a meditative man, but a soul that had rarely known quiet. I had God. But had I really lived to serve God--or was it simply my profession?
People expect pastors to be models of wisdom, purity, love, truthfulness; they cannot always be genuinely so, because they are also men: so, in smaller or greater measure, they begin to act the part. As time passes, they can hardly tell how much of their behavior is play-acting.

I remembered the deep commentary which Savonarola wrote on the fifty-first Psalm, in prison, with his bones so broken that he could sign the self-accusatory paper only with his left hand. He said there were two kinds of Christian: those who sincerely believe in God and those who, just as sincerely, believe that they believe.
You can tell them apart by their actions in decisive moments. If a man, planning to rob a rich man's home, sees a stranger who might be a police-man, he holds back. If, on second thoughts, he breaks in after all, this proves that he does not believe the man to be an agent of the law. Our beliefs are proved by what we do.

Did I believe in God? Now the test had come. I was alone. There was no salary to earn, no golden opinions to consider. God offered me only suffering--would I continue to love Him?

My mind went back to one of my favorite books, The Pateric, concerning certain fourth-century saints who formed desert monasteries when the Church was persecuted. It has 400 hundred pages, but the first time I picked it up I did not eat, drink or sleep until I had finished it. Christian books are like good wine--the older the better. It contained the following passage:

A brother asked his elder, "Father, what is silence?" The answer was, "My son, silence is to sit alone in your cell in wisdom and fear of God, shielding the heart from the burning arrows of thought. Silence like this brings to birth the good. O silence without care, ladder to heaven! O silence in which one cares only for first things, and speaks only with Jesus Christ! He who keeps silent is the one who sings, 'My heart is ready to praise Thee, O Lord!'"

I wondered how you could praise God by a life of silence. At first, I prayed greatly to be released. I asked, "You have said in scripture that it is not good that a man should be alone; why do You keep me alone?" But as the days passed into weeks my only visitor was still the guard, who brought wedges of black bread and watery soup, and never spoke a word.
His arrival reminded me daily of the saying, "The gods walk in soft shoes": in other words, the Greeks believed that we cannot be aware of the approach of a divinity. Perhaps in this silence I was coming closer to God. Perhaps, too, it would make me a better pastor; for I had noticed that the best preachers were men who possessed an inner silence, like Jesus.
When the mouth is too much open, even to speak good, the soul loses its fire just as a room loses warmth through an open door.
Slowly, I learned that on the tree of silence hangs the fruit of peace. I began to realize my real personality, and made sure that it belonged to Christ. I found that even here my thoughts and feelings turned to God and that I could pass night after night in prayer, spiritual exercise and praise. I knew now that I was not play-acting, believing that I believed.

[somewhere after 1948 arrest, published In God's Underground 1968.
--Richard Wurmbrand]

18

16 He sent from on high, he took me;
he drew me out of many waters.
17 He rescued me from my strong enemy
and from those who hated me,
for they were too mighty for me.
18 They confronted me in the day of my calamity,
but the Lord was my support.
19 He brought me out into a broad place;
he rescued me, because he delighted in me.

movie review: Zhestokiy Romans 1984

This is another Russian movie, based on a 1840's play The Dowerless Girl by Ostrovsky. I am told that this film is very close in detail to the play but completely different in spirit. I think it was a very popular film in Russia. This film is very beautiful with its stellar cast, real characters, catchy gypsy melodies, and subtle cinematography. This film is not for everyone, except perhaps if you are the type who finds depressing 19th century soap operas cathartic or just enjoy a good cry.
The story revolves around an upper-class girl with no money trying to find a suitor during a tumultuous time period seeing the end of serfdom, rising middle class, and downfall of nobility.
This story is the type of "novel without a hero" drama, with suitors who are either are suave, petty, disgusting, pitiful, or a little of each. All of the characters are human, to some degree sympathize-able, and no character is a sacrificial lamb or cardboard-cutout. Overall, the cast and screenplay are impressive, not because they convince you so well that they are from a different time, but because they convince you that there is no such thing--that it is your own.
What amazed me most was how the film transformed a sorrowful tale of political and social upheaval into a universal tale about people's inability in search for eternal, unconditional human love---particularly about woman's innate and irrational desire for eternal, unconditional, and fulfilling love, often thought to be found in men or marriage.
It is odd how so many girls think that they can prove their mothers wrong, or are even encouraged by their mothers to think that their mothers' situation is exceptional or amendable.
Their mothers' situations are not exceptional, nor amendable, because their problem is not from situation--it is from within. We are our mothers. We are Eve. And our desire shall be for our husband, and he shall rule over us.
No, fulfillment cannot come from humanity, from human love, from humanistic ideals or idealistic humanism.
Idealistic humanism is ultimately idolatrous, because it is searching for fulfillment within. I think it is sad that what Hollywood pretends and promotes is also what many Christians in America seem to buy, sell, and worship. But what you make or buy cannot eternally satisfy, for they are only dead images carved by men; they have ears but cannot hear, mouths, but cannot speak.
For some reason it seems that true idealism, or belief in the beautiful unseen, only works when there is faith in the beautiful, everlasting, all-powerful, just, self-sustaining, and unseen purpose. Somehow, finding purpose in present life or mankind is futile, yet so many have succeeded only when they did not believe and rely on the present, but on the eternal.
When man searches within, he is empty. When man searches without, he is full.

"Let nothing disturb thee; Let nothing dismay thee; All thing pass; G-d never changes.
Patience attains All that it strives for. He who has G-d finds he lacks nothing: G-d alone suffices." --st. Theresa of Avila

1762

O Thou who camest from above,
the pure celestial fire to impart
kindle a flame of sacred love
upon the mean altar of my heart.

There let it for thy glory burn
with inextinguishable blaze,
and trembling to its source return,
in humble prayer and fervent praise.

Jesus, confirm my heart's desire
to work and speak and think for thee;
still let me guard the holy fire,
and still stir up thy gift in me.

Ready for all thy perfect will,
my acts of faith and love repeat,
till death thy endless mercies seal,
and make my sacrifice complete.

--charles wesley Lev.6:13

Music Lit, and interpretations on vegetation continued

It seems crazy that we musicians are always trying to preserve "the culture" and love all music--from every culture--yet get so bogged down realizing how ignorant our fellow Americans (or international students for that matter) are. It occurred to me that it is as if we musicians are always pruning a rose bush that is in danger of going extinct, yet we ourselves don't know how it got there, or how to plant it ourselves. But if we don't even acknowledge the ground--and claim all cultures were equally progressive--then we really can't help our little rose bush. Another analogy is refrigerating a ripened fruit from going bad--and yet we don't even know how it got there. So we practice several hours a day to continue the life of the plant, we teach our courses on how to appreciate music to ignorant college kids who never heard Gregorian chant save in multi-shooter video games...and we are not allowed to discover the source, because that would encourage chauvinism, and we are a diverse nation.
Of course it cheered me up a great deal that there was a source, a seed that could be sown.
If it is something we believe, then it cannot be just faith in anything, but a certain kind of faith...one being able to discover, to affect, to be affected, in time, and outside of it, eternally...

Music lit, Catholicism, and interpretations on vegetation

This conversation occurred with my professor after Music Lit class after he spent 30+ minutes exhausting to us that though Western music evolved from gregorian chant, the nature of the Catholic church prevented and stunted musical growth, while any music that came out of the church was obviously breaking these restrictions and rebelling against church orthodoxy. (and the glorious progress in music during the Renaissance was a result from church collapse and loss of faith from the bubonic plague.)
"Isn't it interesting that music is not diverse? That most of the music we have today is a result from Western Civilization? And we are not allowed to speak of it? Yet when we have vegetation from ground, we may speak of it as weeds or flowers, and argue that the vegetation came in spite of the ground, and that it is horrible and rocky, and argue that the vegetation "rebelled" in spite of the ground, yet we all must acknowledge that the ground was suitable for such vegetation.
Here and there we speak in different terms of the vegetation, whether it be flower or weed, or fruit--but we do not deny the ground. We may speak of the Protestant reformation as being a rebellion--or fruit of--Catholicism. But we do not deny the ground was suitable for it to sprout."

11

In the Lord I take refuge;
how can you say to my soul,
“Flee like a bird to your mountain,
2 for behold, the wicked bend the bow;
they have fitted their arrow to the string
to shoot in the dark at the upright in heart;
3 if the foundations are destroyed,
what can the righteous do?”

4 The Lord is in his holy temple;
the Lord's throne is in heaven;
his eyes see, his eyelids test the children of man.
5 The Lord tests the righteous,
but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.
6 Let him rain coals on the wicked;
fire and sulfur and a scorching wind shall be the portion of their cup.
7 For the Lord is righteous;
he loves righteous deeds;
the upright shall behold his face.

movie review: crime and punishment 1969

I've been searching youtube for a good Crime and Punishment film for a while, and I think I've finally found one worth watching, meaning of course, that it doesn't try to re-write the book. The only draw-back is that in 3 1/2 hours it still only covers about half of the story, and leaves out some of the most crucial, climactic, and religious scenes, most likely due to the political climate in Russia during 1969. For people who enjoy action, adventure, kissing, color, music, and swooping special effects must be warned that it's Black&White, has no film score, and has long dialogues with subtitles. For those who enjoy Dostoevsky, Russian, philosophical arguments, or find disturbing and complicated soap-operas cathartic, I think will like it a lot. It's a subdued and quiet film for retaining all the emotional intensity of the film by a stellar cast, beautiful script editing, and expressive imagery.
Here's a heads-up on the cast:

Rodya: This was the first time I met a Rodya with dark-blonde hair, not dark-brown, before I read the Vokholnsky/Pevear translation from the Constance Garnett. Like the book, he is tall, intense, and not precisely bad-looking either. It is hard to call him a good actor, since he convinces you so well that it's hard to think that he's not Rodya.
Porfiry: At first I presumed that the film favored him more than they should have, by his mild-mannered and pleasing countenance, though later I found that this made his KGB tactics all the more convincing. I think those who have seen gestapo Mohr in the German film Sophie Scholl: Die Letze Tage, will understand how this Russian film sympathizes with the interrogator.
Sonya: This young actress's talent is probably just as spectacular as Rodya's, though I first thought that she was much too pretty to play this role. Her child-like demeanor and convincing hysterical weeping, makes me suspect that this is definitely the best portrayal on film.
Katerina: Is a definitely convincing and tormenting enough to watch, especially the disturbing and oddly cathartic scenes with her angry conversation with the priest and Sonya.
Razumikhin: Is a slightly smaller character due to the time constraints, but his honesty and kindness due him well, if not a little too simple in regards to his philosophy and intelligence.
Pulcheria and Marmeladov: both I do not have an extreme opinion on, as I think they did their parts quite decently, though both their personalities could be a little more complex than the film had time for.
Luzhin: was decent, if perhaps not a little much too so, once again this is for want of longer lines.
Lebitzyatnikov's character was not introduced except where he was necessary in the plot, though this could not exactly be called a disappointment. This was probably necessary due to the environment of this film, and his despicable ideas tied to Communism.
Dunya: Is very beautiful, even to the point of distraction--though that is what Dostoevsky describes. My only complaint is her interpretation of the last scene where her fearful and helpless behavior seemed to indicate weaker countenance and active moral constitution then Dostoevsky described.
Svidrigailov: Finally my greatest complaint, this very abridged character makes him a quite decent and possibly pleasing and respectable man--and any who read the book will know otherwise.

As you have noticed due to the time constraints and political climate, many characters were simplified, and many crucial religious scenes were omitted. Thus, I recommend the film will make great addition for those who have read the book, but for those who haven't read the book, this could be a possibly confusing and depressing film. (or not.) It's a pity Hollywood doesn't encourage this kind power in either story, script, or acting. I might make an exception to the Passion? (Though that's borrowed from a book too...)

youtubepoem

Here's something I wrote after a long debate on youtube, arguing on definitions about Darwinian evolution and Intelligent Design.

What have we to be afraid of as observers of the sky?
That we were observing an unblinking eye?
Should we cringe in horror, to think that we
Might have an observer as
obstreperous as we?
Or should we embrace that cold sweet sky
that rained down upon us fresh tears of sorrow
that we could not hear, nor did we know?
And whose breath had rocked us in sweet lullaby
when we were alone
and wanted to die.

I myself

11 “For thus says the Lord God:
Behold, I, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out.
12 As a shepherd seeks out his flock
when he is among his sheep that have been scattered,
so will I seek out my sheep,
and I will rescue them from all places
where they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness.
13 And I will bring them out from the peoples
and gather them from the countries,
and will bring them into their own land.
And I will feed them on the mountains of Israel,
by the ravines, and in all the inhabited places of the country.
14 I will feed them with good pasture,
and on the mountain heights of Israel shall be their grazing land.
There they shall lie down in good grazing land,
and on rich pasture they shall feed on the mountains of Israel.
15 I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep,
and I myself will make them lie down,
declares the Lord God.
16 I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed,
and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak,
and the fat and the strong I will destroy.
I will feed them in justice. Ezekiel 34

1

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise
Thou mine inheritance, now and always
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart
High king of heaven, my treasure thou art.

day entry

I am sitting typing near my favorite window, where the trees lift up their roof, and connect the room with thousands of leafy branches...right now they are drenched almost black from last night's rain, and the light is speckling through the very tops of the light green down to the ground...our stone wall is not as firm as it used to be, but still has that dry comfort that grey rocks give near the mossy floor...How shall I explain it?
I have been quite devoid of energy lately, nearing the end of summer and feeling like it never quite truly began...perhaps we really expect too much of summer during the school year...but then maybe others don't expect the summer to be the time when you organize and clean the garage, learn a foreign language, or teach yourself to paint...when you homeschool it's easy to view school year as extra-curricular activities full of orchestra and scholar's bowl team etcetera, that summer seems to be the only time you can actually learn everything you wanted too...but perhaps I am only revealing my habits, especially when I lack the discipline and patience required for excellence, hence my inability musically, artistically, physically, knowledgeably, poetically, linguistically, and culinary! Yet in each task, after my dogged determination to be disciplined, I inevitably fall prone to frustration in the mundane of repetition...even in writing...am I insane?
Before I make either of us so, I shall set a little poem I have written that shall hopefully have nothing to do with anything what I have said today.

We make silly rhymes and cry.
and when we finally try,
we find we cannot see sun
Without breaking it from one into one
thousand shattering pieces glittering
their bitter songs, shaking
our fears onto sky.
And we still ask why,
And find the pool of tears beneath
Reflecting the rippling answers back. 6-19, 6-20-09

Lord's day

I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day,
and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying,
“Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches,
to Ephesus and to Smyrna and to Pergamum and to Thyatira and to Sardis
and to Philadelphia and to Laodicea.”
Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me,
and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands,
and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man,
clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest.
The hairs of his head were white, like white wool, like snow.
His eyes were like a flame of fire,
his feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace,
and his voice was like the roar of many waters.
In his right hand he held seven stars,
from his mouth came a sharp two-edged sword,
and his face was like the sun shining in full strength.
When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead.
But he laid his right hand on me, saying,
“Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one.
I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.
Write therefore the things that you have seen, those that are and those that are to take place after this.
As for the mystery of the seven stars that you saw in my right hand, and the seven golden lampstands, the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands are the seven churches. Revelation1:10-20

2008-7-31 rant

fool, fool, thou art full of lies, dust and flies
do not desecrate what you do not know
—man of dust, you do not know—
Neither do you sow, but lay upon the ground the center of the road,
where carts repeat to roll
Let those reap your fallen body in the ground,
seeds that have sown, tears that have grown, No
you brought flies even when you were alive
–so that you may lie here alone. yet
I have seen the sun, felt the rain, run
—against and with the wind
Fought, bled, died; begun again.
Sown my self, my blood, my tears—yes
I have whispered to the stars
(as night air sang among the trees)
yes, I have seen the sky
(alone, when men can cry)
when she covers herself with veil and
when she laughed and kissed and cried.
No she is not the day
She shows herself to men at night
—you thought you knew—but did not
—how can you when you refused to see the light?
She is harsh and cruel to those who refuse to know
to try to ever see
—how can they when they are blind?—
but I cannot ask what I cannot understand.
So you think you have seen the sun—which dries up water and continues to run.
you think you’ve seen the night—who hates the light
and loves fresh blood flown.
Oh fool! You have never seen the day or dark that you hate so well.
Flies eat flesh, as those who love death, and hate yourself.
Fool! you actually believe you are rotting, flesh which can pollute a well, block the feet of man to pass, cry against the living life by smell
but you do not know—even yourself—
if only that you were!
There is only a pile of dust
Nothing more, nothing less.
but what is blown away by wind,
Carried across the field, and seen no more
is wet by rain for fields of grass
and under which men pass.

6-17-09

Do not fear
When waves roll in
and overtake you,
When plunderers come
or steal this earth away,
When wind surrounds you
And wipes away
this world.
Do not fear
When men assail and torment and lunge
And pierce and break against
This wall.
All will be safe,
All will not fall.
It shall hold till break.
Of day.

child's confession

Why is it so hard to keep resolutions? Especially childhood ones? Like deciding not to grow up, not to stop playing legos, to become a teenager, to "like boys", fall in love...or the traits of the adults that I resolved never to become? Especially the petty things, like the adults who wanted the extra piece of cake, who could be rude, sometimes grumpy, sometimes bossy, but always boring, never imaginative, or easily annoyed...
Today I discovered my adult self being "annoyed at the little ones" and decided to "let down my hair" in how I really felt about "the brats" who happened to be some little persons who were not related to me.
The horror struck me as a thunderbolt how they saw me: a towering figure of authority and height acting anything less than the magnificence that was bestowed upon me. Me, who was to be the essence of regency, of beneficence, of some sort of maidenhead that preceded motherhood...the essence of womankind, and quintessence of femininity...Was not Plato right in understanding children's innate desire for the ideal? And why had I dared stab it by my disregard for the sacred childhood desire for grace, love, and gentleness?
Of course, as soon as I snapped to the boy that "he didn't need it, if he didn't want it" after he said he didn't like the drink with so few sugar--I had immediate flashbacks to adults I so despised, then not so much because I despised their person, but because their person so much despised me, or something they saw in me--perhaps even themselves--I could not tell then.
The faded images of that disgruntled mother of my friend, who reprimanded me ever so slightly in what I considered a choppy manner after I so helpfully corrected someone's pronunciation or grammar, still breached my ideals of complete magnificence, and my aunt who briskly took the cheese grader in a brief act of annoyance to my sweet reply that "I didn't need any help"--to me displayed profound immaturity by exposing temper, even though I knew that I had perhaps acted impertinently--I still could not understand how an adult could behave so plebian by even responding to my immaturity because when one did, one would immediately lower one's own dignity to the child's.
And of course how much easier it is to behave like a child when one had excuse! Now our childhood bodies have grown, and we must pay the rent for being taller and swifter and bigger.
Yes, so we must suffer as I do now, paining my little pity of a soul to stretch itself and grow into some bare resemblance that my image of G-d requires.
When I confessed to my sister of my lost childhood resolutions, she suggested that I strive to change now--not exactly what I wanted--but I reluctantly shared the rest of my icecream with the stampede of devouring children. I must repent of small or slight sin to the little ones just as if they were the royal family, for in G-d's sight, all men are heirs to the royal image and breath that He bestowed upon them. And if to all men, especially for us royal children, heirs to the high priesthood in the order of Melchizedek,King of Righteousness, through the Grace and Mercy of our Lord.

cliff notes visited

yesterday, I spent most of the morning reading Cliff's Notes on Hamlet and All The King's Men, just to see if what I had interpreted was standard stuff. I enjoyed reading what other people thought, though of course this was only enjoyable because I read and re-read and thought and re-thought much upon the subject before. (yes, I know you should never use a preposition to end a sentence with.) I was interested to know that there was a Neo-Freudian interpretation in Hamlet, (popularized in the 1940s) because, as they pointed out, wouldn't you be mad at the guy who killed your dad and married your mom because you wanted to? If not, you obviously have not been enlightened by Freud who would have freed your repressed psyche (or sorry, id). Anyway, I don't see how reading Cliff's Notes before the book helps much, because theories and interpretations can be boring.
However, I confess I continue to be so fascinated analysing, that even I get tired of thought-dissecting. Let art be art! (if only we knew what it was.)

Sweets to the sweet

So Hamlet isn't mad, but was Ophelia?
As shrewd Claudius said "Madness in great ones must not unwatched go."
I had assumed before I read the play, that Ophelia "went dotty" after she found her lost love killed her father, and being a quite natural and sensitive girl took it rather harshly. However, after reading Act III scene ii when Hamlet sets up the play to trap Claudius, and banters a little too freely with the Royal couple and Ophelia, I began to suspect that A: he wasn't psychotic, broken or cold-hearted B: he planned to marry Ophelia (or he wasted considerate time on her) C: his awkward-family-blabbing was meant to tell Ophelia what was really happening and how he really felt and even suspected about Claudius. D: he got distracted and overdid it, making Claudius (and Gertrude) alarmed and suspicious.
Thus the question remains, WWOHD? (what would Ophelia have done?) after she finds out her dad mysteriously dead from hiding behind a curtain in the queen's room, and his murderer mysteriously shuffled off, whilst her brother is gone to France leaving her relatively abandoned and alone for her to ponder the many mysteries of the Royal couple?
If she is the unsuspecting clueless and highly sensitive type, as most movies/children's books portray, she obviously just couldn't handle whatever possibilities this meant, and decided to pine away in a really psycho fashion and drown herself to solve the problems. A solution which isn't relatively new to humanity, and is today's equivalent being classified "bi-polar", put on meds, and then suicide.
However, after reading her "madness" last night, I found it difficult to believe this for several reasons. 6 her character, which didn't seem unable from balancing her obedience and love without flaw previously or 5 that her despair of love for Hamlet would some how rule out her love for her brother Laertes (or her christian discretion) and 4 that all of Hamlet's loose tongue and reaction from the king that night would have gone to waste i.e. somehow knowing that Hamlet's sanity and suspicion, and very possible framing would prevent her from being unable to cope with familial tension, finally 3 that her madness was very suspicious in itself by subversive messages applying more to the queen and king than herself i.e. her carefully selected songs, flower symbols, and desire to meet the queen. And the queen's suspicious summary 2 which was a very odd accident, as well as the queen's guilt before, and the villagers rumor of suicide, making the whole of it rather suspicious, set-up and very 1 convenient: Laertes momentary distraction and grief paralysing him from further harm to Claudius and instead focused on Hamlet.

psalm 97

The Lord reigns, let the earth rejoice
let the many coastlands be glad
2 Clouds and thick darkness are all around him;
righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.
3 Fire goes before him
and burns up his adversaries all around.
4 His lightnings light up the world;
the earth sees and trembles.
5 The mountains melt like wax before the Lord,
before the Lord of all the earth.
6 The heavens proclaim his righteousness,
and all the peoples see his glory.
7 All worshipers of images are put to shame,
who make their boast in worthless idols;
worship him, all you gods
8 Zion hears and is glad,
and the daughters of Judah rejoice,
because of your judgments, O Lord.
9 For you, O Lord, are most high over all the earth;
you are exalted far above all gods.
10 O you who love the Lord, hate evil
He preserves the lives of his saints;
he delivers them from the hand of the wicked.
11 Light dawns for the righteous,
and joy for the upright in heart.
12 Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous,
and give thanks to his holy name

though there is madness

I think a popular misconception is the stereotypical Romantic or Gothic interpretation of Shakespeare, often seen portrayed in Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and Hamlet. However, the "mood" interpretations of creepy castles/churches and black skies, (with perhaps the exception of Macbeth) were not very popular till the 1780's, almost two centuries later. That is not to say that Hamlet's brooding black cape and pale moody face, or Ophelia's socially repressed, frail, and broken heart, were completely fabricated, but that though Hamlet may have worn black at a funeral and was obviously upset about his dad dying, that was no means his norm, and similarly Ophelia's brief loss of insanity may not have necessarily been her personality.
The lack of reality in "mood" stories or romantic/gothic paintings doesn't have to mean that it is unreal, but that "moods" are only a deceptive piece of reality.
In fact, reading Hamlet has me think that Hamlet did not go mad in a brooding anguished introversion whilst Ophelia pined away and eventually broke her heart.
Perhaps I am a bit of a conspiracy theorist, but I suspect that the whole of Hamlet is much more a strategical study than a moody tragedy. Then again, Julius Caesar was not a "tragedy" or "conspiracy" story as much as it was about morals, ulterior motives, and real people. In fact, Julius Caesar was more about Brutus than anyone else worth mentioning. In Romeo and Juliet, were the title characters half as interesting as any of the background characters? Or was it really about them anyway? At least Macbeth was sort of about Macbeth, and Hamlet was mostly about Hamlet.
I am not done with the play yet, but all the initial head-scratchers in the play are now making me dizzy with delight. Polonius' advice, Ophelia's obedience, Gertrude's guilt, and Claudius' and Hamlet's subtle swordplay throughout the entire, ending with both of their deaths. Hamlet mad? maybe, but their is a method in't.

matters touching the lord Hamlet

As some of you know already, I have been absorbing much of my time reading Hamlet, along with this past week's whirlwind of the music festival etc. This past May you probably already know that I went through a Robert Penn Warren obsession about my "bad book" that's supposed to be about corruption and politicians but really isn't. Anyway, now it's June and it's about Hamlet, starting with screening for the family fast-forwarded, and then to read the play itself.
The only other plays I read by Shakespeare was Othello and Macbeth and Julius Caesar, so I was impressed with why Shakespeare was so popular and how many popular interpretations weren't Shakespeare's.

Here are some good reasons why Shakespeare is fun to read:
1 It's really fun to fit many cliched lines into their original context. Reading Hamlet is almost like reading the Bible in respect to familiarity, and like reading the Bible, transforms empty cliches into real stories and real people, making them all the more worthwhile.

2 What's really neat about finding real people, is getting to understand all of them, if not all sympathetically, at least pathetically.
Including finding the background characters' reality and character. Of course it requires reading in between lines by looking at the negative images: asking what are they not saying/doing? why are they mentioned at all? (this is how I often read the Old Testament--esp. the woman figures: "what! why did you mention a woman?" vs. "why did they say so little?")

3 Gleaning as close to truth or history from his culture and what he observed of others (e.g. what's Elizabethan and what's medieval Dane/Scot etc.) by what's different from his and theirs (and yours and his). What remains true, and what is artificial constructs... Basically, the eternal task of a historian. (e.g. the remaining truth/similarity of love between father and daughter, son and father etc. and natural relationships with the responsibilities that their society constructs)

Of course this is true for any classic/epic : Epic of Gilgamesh, the Iliad, Beowulf, the Song of Roland, Canterbury Tales, etc.
Is that truth shall remain true, people will be people, history will constantly be excavated and analyzed (and hidden and mythologized), and that our eternal searching and discovering and interpreting and translating through time and tongue will not have been in vain; For, like science--biology, physics, theology, and mathematics, truth shall reveal, and it will forever be unlocking its own mysteries as time unravels and puts all our masterful attempts and concealment to shame. Let the bright morning dawn! And light shall put away our pitiful creations of night.
(I shall post later on misconceptions...)

during a lunar module meeting

6-10-08
Stars are brighter when wind is cold,
And you will understand the moon.
Her light is light, her hair is silver white
And cold. Clear. Pale. White against the night
Sky bare. And many crystals in her hair.
Crystals, piercing, pointing, peaking.
Laughing, dancing, singing.
Do you know they spin?
Around, and holding hands.
Whirling rings circumcenter,
Running, weaving, twirling, reeling.
Around the bright-gold bridegroom and
His bride with
Flowers in her hair. (Her virgin beside
Standing still with lamp in hand.)

another nasa conference poem

6-11-08
Little girl don’t cry

The Lord is gonna save you from to die,

But you gotta know, you gotta try, you gotta follow by

It’s too hard to tell you, babe, but it’s hard. Real hard.

So drink you milk, and close yo eyes,

You gonna grow, you gonna get big so

You gotta remember when you was a babe

When you knew that you was small and you knew

Somebody’d take care o’ you.

Honey, hold close, close yo’ eyes, it’s gonna get hard

And you gonna cry. So hold my hand, don’t you forget

When you was a babe and the Lord did save

You, you, little babe.

He care fo’ you. He ta’ care o’ you.

nasa notebook poem

6-12-08
The world is larger now
When men must reap and sow
When the world is hushed from snow
Fallen, blanketed, white
Earth must be clothed in her baptismal gown
For the born are bare, and her branches there are
The world is young and old
Is buried, died, and dead
And born, bathed and clothed with white
There is winter wheat dull straw waving
Above white ground, and grey sky is clouded blue and dim
There is rock and path and thorns
Where air is cold and dry
Yes earth is old and young
But world is larger now for sky and
Breath of babe unborn.

excerpts from Psalm 50

1The Mighty One, God the Lord,
speaks and summons the earth
from the rising of the sun to its setting.

3Our God comes; he does not keep silence;
before him is a devouring fire,
around him a mighty tempest.

5“Gather to me my faithful ones,
who made a covenant with me by sacrifice!”

7“Hear, O my people, and I will speak;
O Israel, I will testify against you.
I am God, your God.
8Not for your sacrifices do I rebuke you;
your burnt offerings are continually before me.
9I will not accept a bull from your house
or goats from your folds.

11I know all the birds of the hills,
and all that moves in the field is mine.

12“If I were hungry, I would not tell you,
for the world and its fullness are mine.
13 Do I eat the flesh of bulls
or drink the blood of goats?
14 Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving,
and perform your vows to the Most High,
15 and call upon me in the day of trouble;
I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.”

Good Evening

Taxes, forms, music. Music, taxes, forms. Forms, music, taxes. Thus begins March.

something i noticed in the book of John

I was browsing through the book of John yesterday when I noticed that he mentions water or some activity pertaining to water in almost every chapter...I was curious if this meant something...
1. John the baptist baptizing with water
2.water into wine at cana--Christ's first "sign"
3.Jesus' disciples start baptizing, and mentions rebirth/Holy Spirit to Nicodemus
4.Jesus at the well with the Samaritan woman
5. Healing pool, Jesus heals the lame man
6. crosses the Galilee/walks on water
7. Jesus says he is the "living water"
8.NONE though he preaches and says he is the IAM
9.Jesus heals the blind man with his spit
10. goes back to John the Baptist at the Jordan--he says he is the good shepherd, says "I and the father are one"
11. Jesus WEPT
12.Not Really--but mary anoints jesus feet with perfume--jesus triumphal entry
13.Jesus washes the disciples' feet
14. No but there is no change of scene--he is still talking about "way truth life" and promises Holy Spirit
15.No but he is still talking about being the "true vine"
16.No but he says "you will WEEP but your sorrow will turn to joy as a woman in labor..." repeat of birthing--blood and water and tears...
17. No He is praying to the Father...
18.Not really but he speaks of "drinking the cup" (hmmm....no mention of pilate washing his hands or jesus being spat upon...)
19.Jesus drinks sour wine, and when pierced bursts blood and Water...
20. The woman weeps in the garden, but Jesus promises his Holy Spirit...
21. Jesus appears to the disciples on the shore and gives them breakfast
hmmm...I am looking for patterns, is that too mathematical an approach for theology? I am sure it is primitive but I was just curious since John seems to emphasize the acts of water with importance, though of course the other gospels mention them as well.

"why the novel matters" critique #1

At first I noticed several ironies that I thought were humorous:

1. After disagreeing with the Bible text about the flower withering and the word standing forever, he proceeded to show us that though he is dead, his word outlasted him. (and the fact that he perfectly summed up his novels--boring, stale, and stupid. and trashy ones at that.)

2. his statement that "we turn a deaf ear to it and it ceases to exist"--his view of truth or words...(especially his importance)

3.his "youth like the eagles" comment which appeared to be for G-d's people for "them that wait for the Lord" and paired with "blades of grass" which was also mentioned in the Bible for "the lives of men" made, in an odd way, a support for redemption & resurrection. Whereas, he was trying to support nature vs. spirit.

4. his little illogical, but very postmodern, statements like "there is nothing absolutely right" (about his statements?) and making imperialistic and absolutist statements about abolishing absolutes, as well as change not being absolute. huh? (though surely he knew this--"illogic" is very popular now)

5.His disdain for Philosophers,&scientists, theologians, etc.-though I cut it out)
whilst he makes philosophical statements. and his disdain for thoughts. --Yet again, my juvenile humour.(--and the "pills" comment--a perfect comment of his literature.--why do authors always say the best things about themselves but never realize it?

6. Outmoded use of "ether" to promote materialism, when QM has proved him wrong, and using Platean comments about how novels are only a representation of the real thing--whilst saying Plato didn't get it--kinda weird. (and yes, I did read this a couple times to make sure he wasn't dead-panning)

However unfortunate, D. H. Lawrence's "why the novel matters" seems to sum up a lot in today's postmodern thinking. Hmm...I am still thinking about it.

"why the novel matters" by D. H. Lawrence

"I don't believe in any dazzling revelation, or in any supreme Word. 'The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the Word of the Lord shall stand for ever.' That's the kind of stuff we've drugged ourselves with. As a matter of fact, the grass withereth, but comes up all the greener for that reason, after the rains. The flower fadeth, and therefore the bud opens. But the Word of the Lord, being man-uttered and a mere vibration on the ether, becomes staler and staler, more and more boring, till at last we turn a deaf ear and it ceases to exist, far more finally than any withered grass. It is grass that renews its youth like the eagle, not any Word.
We should ask for no absolutes, or absolute. Once and for all and for ever, let us have done with the ugly imperialism of any absolute. There is no absolute good, there is nothing absolutely right. All things flow and change, and even change is not absolute. The whole is a strange assembly of apparently incongruous parts, slipping past one another."
"The philosopher, on the other hand, because he can think, decides that nothing but thoughts matter. It is as if a rabbit, because he can make little pills, should decide that nothing but little pills matter...the novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether... Plato makes the perfect ideal being tremble in me. But that's only a bit of me..."
---1936 (bold imprinted where I found irony...or humor)

more excerpts from Tennyson

In Memoriam A.H.H.

from no. 55
..."I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the world's altar-stairs
That slope through darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope"

from no. 56
..."O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.

a 19th century response to malthus & modernism

In Memoriam A.H.H. no. 54

O, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shriveled in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream; but what am I?
An infant crying in the night;
An infant crying for the light,
And with no language but a cry.

--Alfred, Lord Tennyson

To Congress

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we,
Light half-believers of our casual creeds,
Who never deeply felt, nor clearly willed,
Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds,
Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled;
For whom each year we see
Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new;
Who hesitate and falter life away,
And lose tomorrow the ground won today--

(from "Scholar Gypsy" by Matthew Arnold)

atheist excerpt

The room is cloud of smoke
Of smell of sweet, incense
Of song and voice, of prayer
The priest lifts his hand across
Four children kneel beside
And heads are bent in prayer

I do not speak.
My throat is tightly closed
And mouth is drooped and old.
I stand alone, the heathen
In black boot and bare head
University coat.
I have not the faith, nor hope.
There is only dead
And that is all, and on a bed.

They huddle around with
Eyes closed and hands clasped
lips moving in prayer.

(To the ceiling boards and windows shut
To the plaster coated peeling wallpaper.)
I stare down
Bare, alone, forsaken, free.
I was a boy once
And believed tales and rime
Father used to take me there
And hold my pilgrim hand.

How different it is now!
Now, I understand.
Perhaps. That there is really nothing more
Nothing less.
And all is false but pen and knife.
(and vodka pot, and dirt.)
They shall all die poor
And heedless cries to god
Yes, in the street and begging bread.
(That is too my fate, no doubt)
Unless men can end this sty
And overthrowing, breaking all that held
Yes, destroying those petty kings
And conquering all those castles
Adored, and worshiping.
Blood, and breaking glass.

excerpt

With naked hands and small

That have swollen eyes

And can cry out to breathe.

How we long to be a babe born.

Because we are not, and cannot

till we mourn.

Hello

The Heavens declare the glory of G-d, The Skies above proclaim His handiwork.
Day after day they pour forth speech, night after night they declare knowledge.
There is no place where their voices are not heard...going to the ends of the world.