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.