What does it mean to be vulnerable? The word seems to be synonymous with weakness. Not that vulnerability is a weakness or that what you are showing is weakness in yourself, but its that point where you become tender. When I cook steaks, I tenderize the meat to make it more vulnerable to the marinade. To be vulnerable is to be tender to another.
Men have always viewed vulnerability as weakness. Why? Because, in general but definitely not always, men see it as a lion attacking the vulnerable antelope. It is what we eat for thanksgiving. It is not being the top of the food chain, but it is facing up to the reality that you can be attacked and there is something bigger than you.
Whether it is pride, a person, or a proposition, man gets attacked and many times he or she can handle that. But there are some spots that are tender and the person getting attacked just can't take it there. It's like a tickle spot - everyone has one. It usually hits people at their uncertainties - their weight, height, personality, talents, etc. - or where they are most confident. It's either to get smashed down into the ground or merely just pulled down to it.
Vulnerability is to be tender to another. If that is the case, then Jesus was a good example. He never was weak but he did weep, and wash his disciples' feet to name a few of things. Weakness is not synonymous with vulnerability, strength is not synonymous with it either. Vulnerability is a small virtue that is not very popular, but the very thing that this culture needs to see most. Not a stupid vulnerability that resembles foolish souls based on feelings, but a wise vulnerability that balances itself with truth and understanding. It's hard to do.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Chapter 1 of something
She sat there on the porch of her favorite café in midtown. The café’s exterior looked like a small house. It was a dark red with generic, white lettering above the entrance spelling out, “Café”. The inside was a room and a half with a bar for coffee and homemade pastries, seating area, and a partitioned corner/room for smokers. The porch was made of wood, now grey from age, and a step or two above the sidewalk. The porch looked out onto the wide two-lane road and run down strip, which mostly consisted of a white drug store, a liquor store, a couple of businesses, and a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Angela was birched up on the porch at a small table with one foot in the seat across from her. Her short jet-black hair was tangled like she made a b-line from her bed to the café a couple of hours earlier, which is probably not too far off. She always wore simple clothes, “since I was a kid,” she insisted. Whether or not she had didn’t really matter beyond the image she wanted to be placed upon her. The fact is that she was living up to her word with her black short-sleeved shirt that followed her collarbone and ended just below the belt line of her green cargo pants. The rest of her appearance was complimented with her black sandals, a couple of bracelets, and a thin, black necklace that contrasted beautifully with her fair skin. She always smelled like cigarette smoke but had never smoked one in her life.
All of this is secondary to her face though. Her face told her story. Her smile was of a girl who had to grow up too fast. It was not new; it was clear that it had grown to become that way over time. Yet her cheeks were still innocent, like a man’s lips had never touched them nor a man’s hand ever slap them. But it was her eyes - surrounded by dark, but modest makeup – they were the last things keeping her honest. You can hide behind your tongue, let it make up stories and tell the sweetest lies. You can hide behind your appearance by letting stereotypes speak for themselves. You can even surround your eyes with smokescreens, as Angela above does. But you cannot pull a veil over your eyes for too long before your soul starts to whisper through them. You can suppress it for a while but in the end your eyes will always keep you honest. She was especially vulnerable due to the street noise and being alone at her own table; her eyes were screaming louder than the call of a crow.
Angela was playing around with a greyhound ticket in her hand. “Tomorrow, all my hope is in tomorrow,” she thought as her eyes stayed fixed on her ticket like she was in a starring contest with the greyhound logo. It was her way out and thus her way in. She spoke of this moment for at least two years now. Whenever someone would ask her where she wanted to go, she just replied “Anywhere but here.” All she knew was that where she was, her circumstances where she was have left her empty, unsure, lost, and, worst of all, stagnate. All Angela knew was that her life as is and as it has become has given her nothing to hold on to. The answers, the purpose and meaning of her life was not were she was at; it was where she most go. For her to see inside herself – to see her very soul face-to-face – she had to go out.
It was dusk and the orange glow made everything all the more surreal to her. It was a moment not easily forgotten, like she was about to storm the beaches of Normandy or trust a lover for the first time. These moments, as rare as they are in our lives, carry so much weight and it takes years to shed off the pounds. She had an early morning the next day but she had a hard time getting up knowing it was admitting one more step in the process. But she was determined. She was leaving tomorrow from the only town she ever knew and was not coming back until she truly found out who she was. As her foot left the chair across from her she heard a voice that she had not heard in a couple of years. It was a voice that you didn’t care to remember or forget, and right when she climbed into her memory deep enough to remember who’s voice it is, it was too late to make a move on either avoiding him or embracing him. “Angela?”
All of this is secondary to her face though. Her face told her story. Her smile was of a girl who had to grow up too fast. It was not new; it was clear that it had grown to become that way over time. Yet her cheeks were still innocent, like a man’s lips had never touched them nor a man’s hand ever slap them. But it was her eyes - surrounded by dark, but modest makeup – they were the last things keeping her honest. You can hide behind your tongue, let it make up stories and tell the sweetest lies. You can hide behind your appearance by letting stereotypes speak for themselves. You can even surround your eyes with smokescreens, as Angela above does. But you cannot pull a veil over your eyes for too long before your soul starts to whisper through them. You can suppress it for a while but in the end your eyes will always keep you honest. She was especially vulnerable due to the street noise and being alone at her own table; her eyes were screaming louder than the call of a crow.
Angela was playing around with a greyhound ticket in her hand. “Tomorrow, all my hope is in tomorrow,” she thought as her eyes stayed fixed on her ticket like she was in a starring contest with the greyhound logo. It was her way out and thus her way in. She spoke of this moment for at least two years now. Whenever someone would ask her where she wanted to go, she just replied “Anywhere but here.” All she knew was that where she was, her circumstances where she was have left her empty, unsure, lost, and, worst of all, stagnate. All Angela knew was that her life as is and as it has become has given her nothing to hold on to. The answers, the purpose and meaning of her life was not were she was at; it was where she most go. For her to see inside herself – to see her very soul face-to-face – she had to go out.
It was dusk and the orange glow made everything all the more surreal to her. It was a moment not easily forgotten, like she was about to storm the beaches of Normandy or trust a lover for the first time. These moments, as rare as they are in our lives, carry so much weight and it takes years to shed off the pounds. She had an early morning the next day but she had a hard time getting up knowing it was admitting one more step in the process. But she was determined. She was leaving tomorrow from the only town she ever knew and was not coming back until she truly found out who she was. As her foot left the chair across from her she heard a voice that she had not heard in a couple of years. It was a voice that you didn’t care to remember or forget, and right when she climbed into her memory deep enough to remember who’s voice it is, it was too late to make a move on either avoiding him or embracing him. “Angela?”
Friday, February 23, 2007
Field Trip!
I just bought the U.K. first edition of G. K. Chesterton’s “Orthodoxy” (amazing!). The way he tells his story of how Christianity began to make sense to him and the way he describes the attributes of it that appeal to him, makes you want to be a child again. His chapter “Ethics of Elfland” is singularly the most influential chapter of literature I have read (with the rest of the chapters right behind probably). It makes you think the only proper way to look at Christianity is through a child’s eyes.
As I was leaving school today, I saw a class of probably first graders - most likely on a field trip - crossing the street. Every three kids had an adult with them but it seemed merely as a security, not so much an actual presence. Some of them had interlocking arms skipping together, some had their hands tightly held by others (adults and children alike), others were bold enough to just stay near others. I saw little guys with smiles ear to ear and glasses too big for their faces (I could have sworn it was me at that age), other boys were looking around aimlessly, little girls had long, flowing hair in bows and were, even at that age, much more civilized but still too childish to know the difference. As the light turned red and the white man in a box told us we can walk (I could have walked before it turned red between the traffic surges but I felt like my reputation and testimony would be ruined to encourage such behavior), I watched them as two boys surged a couple of feet ahead trying to jump on each white line like the black street was hot lava. With each jump one kid yelled out “Hop! Hop! Hop!” I just had to smile! I wanted to follow them but I refrained thinking I would be considered some pedophile (how sad is it that you can’t enjoy the company of a kid anymore without weird looks?) It was a sight that will lighten up my next week!
I’m now listening to Joanna Newsom because she is a child. I told a friend yesterday off the top of my head that I can’t get out of my head. She said that she can’t find men, only boys. As I pondered that I just asked her, “Do you know what a man is? I don’t even know what it is.” I went on to say that I think being a man has little to do with being “grown up” or mature. Sure we should be mature in faith and so on (although Christ said that means to be like a child) but Christ did say if we want to be in His kingdom we must be like children. What that entails I’m not quite sure, but I keep thinking about it. I have a feeling it goes beyond having child-like faith. And what exactly child-like faith? It is not ignorance, so it is not knowledge-based. I have a feeling it is more perspective-based. But I am convinced that to be like a child is to be closer to God. Judaism doesn’t even regard children as sinful; children are a innocent and represent redemption. They are the most important age. Although I’m convinced that a child is not innocent in a state of morality or the soul; they are innocent in perspective. They have yet to find out “being bad” is in everyone else. They’re not skeptical yet – they see things as they are given to them, and understand and expect, for instance, that an infinite, all-powerful God will have a fish swallow a man. Why not? It is the “grown up” who will still be skeptical and find ways around that. I think this is a part of it but these are merely thoughts. I’ll look into it.
As I was leaving school today, I saw a class of probably first graders - most likely on a field trip - crossing the street. Every three kids had an adult with them but it seemed merely as a security, not so much an actual presence. Some of them had interlocking arms skipping together, some had their hands tightly held by others (adults and children alike), others were bold enough to just stay near others. I saw little guys with smiles ear to ear and glasses too big for their faces (I could have sworn it was me at that age), other boys were looking around aimlessly, little girls had long, flowing hair in bows and were, even at that age, much more civilized but still too childish to know the difference. As the light turned red and the white man in a box told us we can walk (I could have walked before it turned red between the traffic surges but I felt like my reputation and testimony would be ruined to encourage such behavior), I watched them as two boys surged a couple of feet ahead trying to jump on each white line like the black street was hot lava. With each jump one kid yelled out “Hop! Hop! Hop!” I just had to smile! I wanted to follow them but I refrained thinking I would be considered some pedophile (how sad is it that you can’t enjoy the company of a kid anymore without weird looks?) It was a sight that will lighten up my next week!
I’m now listening to Joanna Newsom because she is a child. I told a friend yesterday off the top of my head that I can’t get out of my head. She said that she can’t find men, only boys. As I pondered that I just asked her, “Do you know what a man is? I don’t even know what it is.” I went on to say that I think being a man has little to do with being “grown up” or mature. Sure we should be mature in faith and so on (although Christ said that means to be like a child) but Christ did say if we want to be in His kingdom we must be like children. What that entails I’m not quite sure, but I keep thinking about it. I have a feeling it goes beyond having child-like faith. And what exactly child-like faith? It is not ignorance, so it is not knowledge-based. I have a feeling it is more perspective-based. But I am convinced that to be like a child is to be closer to God. Judaism doesn’t even regard children as sinful; children are a innocent and represent redemption. They are the most important age. Although I’m convinced that a child is not innocent in a state of morality or the soul; they are innocent in perspective. They have yet to find out “being bad” is in everyone else. They’re not skeptical yet – they see things as they are given to them, and understand and expect, for instance, that an infinite, all-powerful God will have a fish swallow a man. Why not? It is the “grown up” who will still be skeptical and find ways around that. I think this is a part of it but these are merely thoughts. I’ll look into it.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Solomon's Views on Woodworking and Photography
The past couple of days I've been dealing with decisions. I bid on Lenski's commentaries on ebay, and I know I don't need them but I'll be glad I have them one day. I went to Home Depot to look at tools yesterday and today. I want to learn carpentry or woodworking; I need a bookcase for my commentaries. . . I've been looking at digital SLR cameras, I've been advised to get a Nikon D50. I've moved on pretty much from wanting guitar stuff and music stuff in general. I'm not sure if I'm looking at these other things to replace my desire for music or what. Photography, however great it is, isn't for me. I want it because someone else wants it. Woodworking takes up space and time and trial and error. . . it seems like something I'll take on when I'm older, but maybe not. So I'm at a crossroads: what now?
King Solomon said, "Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; and this was my reward for my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; and indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun."
What is "profit" to Solomon? He had plenty of material profit and I don't think he is talking about a desire for excess of profit. It is an immaterial profit Solomon is searching for. When he mentions the works his hands had done and the labor he had toiled over it makes me think of a craftsmen. I'm sure he was thinking of much grander things - maybe even building the Temple and a marvelous kingdom - but I think of him building a table. I think this probably because it hits me personally at the moment. I say this to say that I think Solomon wasn't just thinking of his grand achievements; he was thinking way too simple and thus way too profound. It's those little things that we do in our homes after the grand schemes of success or just living are over that make us really feel empty. Think about it; everytime we hear a story of a man with great success feel empty or commit suicide it is in the quietness of the simple things. Money doesn't satisfy; why? Because money doesn't effect the simple things in life. Sure Apple has a bunch of novelty products that make music more accessible and so on, but I'm not talking about that. If the simple things in life are merely the physical realities then Apple is the source of all meaning to me. But it is obviously not. We must remember the immaterial.
Immaterial profit is found in what is not under the sun - God. Now before you think, "Duh!" Let's see what this entails. When we chase after the material for meaning we find vanity because meaning is not material. My ipod is not meaning, maybe the idea of the ipod can give me meaning, but not it itself. This is why the Temple could have easily been meaningless to Solomon. What Solomon finds is that God gives meaning because He makes human beings make sense. It is amazing how something physical, like building a table, can bring so much spiritual satisfaction - much more than most other things we do with our minds, or hearts, or whatever. Why is this link so strong? Our image or likeness of God. God saw creation and said what? "IT IS GOOD!" Creation at it's heart is a good thing. When we "create" or form (much like what God did of man out of the dust), we are dwelling in the image of God. God created to please Himself (not in a perverted or slavish way, but in a very innocent way). We must never lose this pleasure of "creating" or we lose ourselves.
Solomon wasn't looking for God, he was looking for meaning. When we find God, we find meaning. God himself is not meaning, but His existence gives meaning. We find the meaning of love, communication, order, autonomy, and more in the fact that God created us. We gain the answer to the question, "Who am I?" in this realizatiion. Solomon says at the end of Ecclesiastes: "Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man's all." Or this is what makes man complete. When we find God, recognize his prestige, and obey him we are complete. To find and fear God is to realize who you are and who He is, to obey Him is to merely bring these realizations to living so that it is not just an idea but a way of life. When we find who we are - when we find our meaning in God - living itself becomes meaningful.
I didn' mean to say half of that but there it is.
King Solomon said, "Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; and this was my reward for my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; and indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun."
What is "profit" to Solomon? He had plenty of material profit and I don't think he is talking about a desire for excess of profit. It is an immaterial profit Solomon is searching for. When he mentions the works his hands had done and the labor he had toiled over it makes me think of a craftsmen. I'm sure he was thinking of much grander things - maybe even building the Temple and a marvelous kingdom - but I think of him building a table. I think this probably because it hits me personally at the moment. I say this to say that I think Solomon wasn't just thinking of his grand achievements; he was thinking way too simple and thus way too profound. It's those little things that we do in our homes after the grand schemes of success or just living are over that make us really feel empty. Think about it; everytime we hear a story of a man with great success feel empty or commit suicide it is in the quietness of the simple things. Money doesn't satisfy; why? Because money doesn't effect the simple things in life. Sure Apple has a bunch of novelty products that make music more accessible and so on, but I'm not talking about that. If the simple things in life are merely the physical realities then Apple is the source of all meaning to me. But it is obviously not. We must remember the immaterial.
Immaterial profit is found in what is not under the sun - God. Now before you think, "Duh!" Let's see what this entails. When we chase after the material for meaning we find vanity because meaning is not material. My ipod is not meaning, maybe the idea of the ipod can give me meaning, but not it itself. This is why the Temple could have easily been meaningless to Solomon. What Solomon finds is that God gives meaning because He makes human beings make sense. It is amazing how something physical, like building a table, can bring so much spiritual satisfaction - much more than most other things we do with our minds, or hearts, or whatever. Why is this link so strong? Our image or likeness of God. God saw creation and said what? "IT IS GOOD!" Creation at it's heart is a good thing. When we "create" or form (much like what God did of man out of the dust), we are dwelling in the image of God. God created to please Himself (not in a perverted or slavish way, but in a very innocent way). We must never lose this pleasure of "creating" or we lose ourselves.
Solomon wasn't looking for God, he was looking for meaning. When we find God, we find meaning. God himself is not meaning, but His existence gives meaning. We find the meaning of love, communication, order, autonomy, and more in the fact that God created us. We gain the answer to the question, "Who am I?" in this realizatiion. Solomon says at the end of Ecclesiastes: "Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man's all." Or this is what makes man complete. When we find God, recognize his prestige, and obey him we are complete. To find and fear God is to realize who you are and who He is, to obey Him is to merely bring these realizations to living so that it is not just an idea but a way of life. When we find who we are - when we find our meaning in God - living itself becomes meaningful.
I didn' mean to say half of that but there it is.
Monday, January 15, 2007
My Default....
I installed a new web browser for my computer to try out. It is kind of complicated and I don't like it very much. It asked me as soon as I opened it for the first time on whether or not I want it to be my default browser. I chose no - I like my old browser thank you very much. We see this word a lot: default browser, web page, color, menu, etc. What are these for? Its the response to an action when nothing is chosen, or a preselected response to an action. Now we have encountered many people saying what our default worldview should be. A common view now of atheism is what most call negative atheism or what I call passive atheism. It is the view that until sufficient evidence says otherwise, we should believe there is no God. Lack of sufficient evidence brings reason to believe that the thing trying to be proved doesn't exist. Negative or passive atheism just says that the default worldview should be atheism - not theism or even agnosticism - when the evidence isn't in the favor of theism. Now this sounds reasonable but they mean this regardless if the atheistic position has positive arguments for its view. For the sole reason that the arguments that you have heard about theism, to you, are unsound you must automatically assume that God doesn't exist. What if there are other arguments? Better yet, what right do you have to say that something absolutely doesn't exist based on a few bad arguments?
This is the problem with atheism: in tries to defend an absolute negative. Regardless on whether you think you can positively prove the non-existence of God (which is impossible) or negatively prove it (just say lack of evidence is reason enough) you are still making an absolute negative claim. Negative atheism is merely agnosticism that tries to makes a decision that is ultimately blind. This default view is illogical in and of itself. Why not polytheism instead atheism? Most say that there is no evidence for polytheism either, but that is just digging a bigger hole. Atheism is still a position that must be proved for the very reason that it is a position. It is like Tom and Sandra standing in a room with three chairs. Sandra starts to sit in one and Tom says, "Don't sit there, it doesn't look sturdy enough." Sandra looks, agrees, and moves to the next chair but Tom stops her again and says, "That chair doesn't look good either." Sandra again scrutinizes the chair and agrees with Tom and goes to sit in the last chair. Before Tom can say a word she just looks at him in discontent and says, "I don't care how sturdy it seems, I have to sit somewhere." We all have to "sit" as it were but somehow negative atheism no longer has to go through the same rigors as the other two merely because its the only one left. You cannot prove you're car will work just because no one else's does. It doesn't make sense. When you chose a worldview you are chosing a positive action not a default.
So what should be the default worldview in regards to the existence of God? There isn't one. Everyone is biased. It's as simple as that. You will judge the question based on how you feel or have been taught or whatever. When truth is concerned only one choice is right so the default has to be the right one but that is what you are trying to find out so it is a moot concern alltogether and makes negative atheism even harder to follow.
This is the problem with atheism: in tries to defend an absolute negative. Regardless on whether you think you can positively prove the non-existence of God (which is impossible) or negatively prove it (just say lack of evidence is reason enough) you are still making an absolute negative claim. Negative atheism is merely agnosticism that tries to makes a decision that is ultimately blind. This default view is illogical in and of itself. Why not polytheism instead atheism? Most say that there is no evidence for polytheism either, but that is just digging a bigger hole. Atheism is still a position that must be proved for the very reason that it is a position. It is like Tom and Sandra standing in a room with three chairs. Sandra starts to sit in one and Tom says, "Don't sit there, it doesn't look sturdy enough." Sandra looks, agrees, and moves to the next chair but Tom stops her again and says, "That chair doesn't look good either." Sandra again scrutinizes the chair and agrees with Tom and goes to sit in the last chair. Before Tom can say a word she just looks at him in discontent and says, "I don't care how sturdy it seems, I have to sit somewhere." We all have to "sit" as it were but somehow negative atheism no longer has to go through the same rigors as the other two merely because its the only one left. You cannot prove you're car will work just because no one else's does. It doesn't make sense. When you chose a worldview you are chosing a positive action not a default.
So what should be the default worldview in regards to the existence of God? There isn't one. Everyone is biased. It's as simple as that. You will judge the question based on how you feel or have been taught or whatever. When truth is concerned only one choice is right so the default has to be the right one but that is what you are trying to find out so it is a moot concern alltogether and makes negative atheism even harder to follow.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Janurary post I never posted
It's amazing what will come out of mind that has abandoned its foundations. G. K. Chesterton rightly implied (he never said it but he gave the idea and people have merely shortened his idea) that when a man stops believing in God, he doesn't then believe in nothing, but he will believe in anything. Now I'm not going to go off on a tangent that so many people do and say that the world has lost its belief in God and therefore we are becoming a society who will believe in anything. This is true but said too much and is usually grossly overexagerated. I merely want to use this as a backdrop to what I really want to say. It is a biblical notion and common sense to believe in what you have always believed until proven or persuaded to deny it. So many christians will find question in a part of christianity and will immediately lose faith in that aspect even though they have yet to find an answer. Not only do they fail to see God's relationship as a tool for getting answers but they fail to see the difference between suspect and guilt. God has really never asked us to blindly follow Him but really has just asked us to prove Him wrong. Again Chesterton said that the Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting but has been found difficult and left untried. Jesus said, "Come, follow Me." He said we must be like children to enter the kingdom of God. He was merely saying we must be humble enough to take Him on. He did not ask for an ignorant loyalty but a humble one. If He asked us to ignorantly follow Him, He wouldn't of spent much time talking to us in a such a way or performing miracles. He gave us plenty of weight behind His presence and merely asked us to take it on.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
A Westward Migration
A handful of kids were playing outside of one of their suburban american homes. To their parents it looked a chaotic but these kids were playing the most intricate game they could come up with. The bossy one was making up new rules to the ones she established only a few moments before. It was late afternoon and the sun was a weak yellow shining through the trees. As they were playing, something came over them - like a switch turning on a light bulb. It came to them like something they suddenly remembered while doing something else totally unrelated. It came with mixed emotions. The kids became more happy, almost giddy; they became anxious and angry, almost like a nervous panic. Their blood began to flow violently. Their veins wanted to pop due to the pressure - it was that feeling of excitement that makes your body jump or skip. They all honed in and with camaraderie began to sprint down the road. Their energy only increased as they ran and by the time the got to the end of their street the found others doing the same thing. People of all ages as far as the eye could see were running in the same direction: west.
As these kids ran they were joined by hundreds until they were no longer noticeable. The mob continued to the nearby turnpike where everyone seemed to gravitate. There were many in cars trying to move west but there were too many people on the road to go anywhere. Eighteen wheeler trucks were at the mercy of ten year-old kids and ninty year-old men. Cars on the other side of the highway were wrecked and slowly navigating through the wreckage because they all decided to turn around and only a few succeeded. The mob ran down, beside, and around the highway all trying to go west. You could see people running in the trees next to the highway like indians staking an ambush on their enemies. There were even men on horses trying to make their way west. They were Spanish Conquistadors in full garb. Each one looked exdactly the same with his new but dull armor, dark orange under garments, and brown haired horses. The all had fully grown beards that were thin but not well groomed - as if they once were well-groomed but are too far and too long away from home to care or notice. These men rode fiercely down the highway keeping together and making amazing time. It was as if Ponce de Leon rose from the dead hearing that the fountain of youth was spotted but still not discovered.
As time went on people began to spread apart. Everyone was still full of energy but were trying different routes to move along faster. The kids found themselves in a big field full of haystacks. The grass a deep green and the hay a very bright tan color. As they continued to run they found the Conquistadors on their backs. They shouted at each other arguing whether to hide or to keep running. They did not know if the Conquistadors were friendly or an enemy. After about a minute of that the bossy girl took charge. She demanded everyone to follow her and of course no one protested. They were led behind a haystack to hide. They sat and waited until the heard a horse coming. It's hoofs got louder and louder and heavier. They could hear the horse grunt and neigh almost in pain. Before they could understand what had happened they found the horse and the Conquistador dead right by the haystack. The kids looked at them in a wide-eyed but calm fashion. Again they acted like a democracy and argued about what to do next. Their fearless leader took charge of her subjects and decided to cover him up with a wagon that the hay was carried on. They all moved the twenty feet to the wagon and began to push. It was very heavy for only a few children but the managed to get it next to the man and his horse. They then, following orders, pushed the cart over on it's top with their feet and it landed and covered most of the victims. They then quickly started running only to hear more hoofs on the ground - an army of them. The scurried back to the haystack and waited for them to come. The leader found his wayward soldier and knew something was arry. He looked carefully around and the children were frightened. They didn't have much cover and they could easily see him so it was inevitable that he would see them. The leader looked carefully but hurriedly - he had to press on towards the west. He looked right at the kids but didn't see them. He called his troops and the moved on and the kids were relieved.
As these kids ran they were joined by hundreds until they were no longer noticeable. The mob continued to the nearby turnpike where everyone seemed to gravitate. There were many in cars trying to move west but there were too many people on the road to go anywhere. Eighteen wheeler trucks were at the mercy of ten year-old kids and ninty year-old men. Cars on the other side of the highway were wrecked and slowly navigating through the wreckage because they all decided to turn around and only a few succeeded. The mob ran down, beside, and around the highway all trying to go west. You could see people running in the trees next to the highway like indians staking an ambush on their enemies. There were even men on horses trying to make their way west. They were Spanish Conquistadors in full garb. Each one looked exdactly the same with his new but dull armor, dark orange under garments, and brown haired horses. The all had fully grown beards that were thin but not well groomed - as if they once were well-groomed but are too far and too long away from home to care or notice. These men rode fiercely down the highway keeping together and making amazing time. It was as if Ponce de Leon rose from the dead hearing that the fountain of youth was spotted but still not discovered.
As time went on people began to spread apart. Everyone was still full of energy but were trying different routes to move along faster. The kids found themselves in a big field full of haystacks. The grass a deep green and the hay a very bright tan color. As they continued to run they found the Conquistadors on their backs. They shouted at each other arguing whether to hide or to keep running. They did not know if the Conquistadors were friendly or an enemy. After about a minute of that the bossy girl took charge. She demanded everyone to follow her and of course no one protested. They were led behind a haystack to hide. They sat and waited until the heard a horse coming. It's hoofs got louder and louder and heavier. They could hear the horse grunt and neigh almost in pain. Before they could understand what had happened they found the horse and the Conquistador dead right by the haystack. The kids looked at them in a wide-eyed but calm fashion. Again they acted like a democracy and argued about what to do next. Their fearless leader took charge of her subjects and decided to cover him up with a wagon that the hay was carried on. They all moved the twenty feet to the wagon and began to push. It was very heavy for only a few children but the managed to get it next to the man and his horse. They then, following orders, pushed the cart over on it's top with their feet and it landed and covered most of the victims. They then quickly started running only to hear more hoofs on the ground - an army of them. The scurried back to the haystack and waited for them to come. The leader found his wayward soldier and knew something was arry. He looked carefully around and the children were frightened. They didn't have much cover and they could easily see him so it was inevitable that he would see them. The leader looked carefully but hurriedly - he had to press on towards the west. He looked right at the kids but didn't see them. He called his troops and the moved on and the kids were relieved.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Excerpt from "Northing"
"Love is synonomous with pain," Sloane said with intense conviction as he eyed his foe. He was out of breath due to the rigorous fight but he mustered up enough breath to still speak with weight. "You cannot experience love without experiencing pain; you cannot experience the bloody warm blade of a sword without having a love worth dying for - whether it be life, nature, God, . . . a woman."
Fionn stared at Sloane with a stoic demeanor. His sword was drawn but not on guard even though Sloane was just a step away from killing him.
"You know it is true, Fionn. You have chased her and her exclusive love for years and have faced endless trials and pain. Your life alone is testimony of this truth. Do you really want her? You have chased after her and almost died, what do you think will happen once you've grasped her beauty? I tell you the truth; if chasing her has injured you in every fashion, having her will be your death."
Fionn throughout all of this was standing still and emotionless. After Sloane had spoken, Fionn looked down for a few seconds completely open like he was waiting for his death blow. Sloane, however, was taken back enough to let Fionn contemplate his "wise" words. Fionn slowly raised his head and sword. In his eyes you could see a white, pure fire burning from within. He gained his composure to full force and screamed with every ounce of his strength left and every ounce of passion gained over his journey:
"If love is synonomous with pain then every blade in my side, every arrow that has grazed my cheek, every crushing blow upon my neck is nothing but love being infused in my body and soul! Every wound has only made her beauty that much more sweeter, her love that much more captivating! And if I die because I chose to love her then that is only because she has overwhelmed my being to the point of consuming it! My death will not be of mortal injury but of my solitary being becoming one with her's!"
Fioon then charged at Sloane with....
Fionn stared at Sloane with a stoic demeanor. His sword was drawn but not on guard even though Sloane was just a step away from killing him.
"You know it is true, Fionn. You have chased her and her exclusive love for years and have faced endless trials and pain. Your life alone is testimony of this truth. Do you really want her? You have chased after her and almost died, what do you think will happen once you've grasped her beauty? I tell you the truth; if chasing her has injured you in every fashion, having her will be your death."
Fionn throughout all of this was standing still and emotionless. After Sloane had spoken, Fionn looked down for a few seconds completely open like he was waiting for his death blow. Sloane, however, was taken back enough to let Fionn contemplate his "wise" words. Fionn slowly raised his head and sword. In his eyes you could see a white, pure fire burning from within. He gained his composure to full force and screamed with every ounce of his strength left and every ounce of passion gained over his journey:
"If love is synonomous with pain then every blade in my side, every arrow that has grazed my cheek, every crushing blow upon my neck is nothing but love being infused in my body and soul! Every wound has only made her beauty that much more sweeter, her love that much more captivating! And if I die because I chose to love her then that is only because she has overwhelmed my being to the point of consuming it! My death will not be of mortal injury but of my solitary being becoming one with her's!"
Fioon then charged at Sloane with....
Friday, June 09, 2006
Dreams in Valleys
There was a grassy meadow full with tall, yet soft grass, dandelions, and daisies. In the distance, maybe a twenty minute walk (or five if measured by a kid), there are snow-capped mountains stamped against a hazy blue sky. The sun was on the brink of setting but was fighting the edge of the mountains like a puppy on a leash fighting it's master. The girl in this scene had no puppy however, but she seemed to not even notice the fact. She was too busy running. She was running home with a huge smile on her face, in a pretty white sun dress with red flowers on it; her brown hair in a red ribbon was tickling the tall grass as she ran by.
Her home was odd and...well homey. The front yard was as big as a decently sized bedroom, surrounded by a white fence that seemed easy to step over, which kept the burglars out because no one would want to steal anything with such an innocent, modest, pure guard. The fence attatched to the sides of the house and there was no way in or out of the house's premises, except to step over it. The house was small, maybe even a one room house, with an attractive red roof and white walls. Beautiful window gardens on the windows were symetrically lined with the front door. There was something magical about it; any one who saw it would be convinced that this small home was a castle and she was the princess; to walk through the front door was to walk into a grand hall fit only for God Himself.
As she entered the yard she kept full speed until she came upon the open front door. She slowed down and eventually stopped a yard or so from the front door. By now the sun had lost its battle and is setting with vengance; the sky is now rich of a full orange/yellow - the blood stain of the sun's lose. The girl stopped to look inside with a virgin curiosity. Her eyes caught something that grew her confidence wildly. She smiled - almost laughed - and ran into the home.
Her home was odd and...well homey. The front yard was as big as a decently sized bedroom, surrounded by a white fence that seemed easy to step over, which kept the burglars out because no one would want to steal anything with such an innocent, modest, pure guard. The fence attatched to the sides of the house and there was no way in or out of the house's premises, except to step over it. The house was small, maybe even a one room house, with an attractive red roof and white walls. Beautiful window gardens on the windows were symetrically lined with the front door. There was something magical about it; any one who saw it would be convinced that this small home was a castle and she was the princess; to walk through the front door was to walk into a grand hall fit only for God Himself.
As she entered the yard she kept full speed until she came upon the open front door. She slowed down and eventually stopped a yard or so from the front door. By now the sun had lost its battle and is setting with vengance; the sky is now rich of a full orange/yellow - the blood stain of the sun's lose. The girl stopped to look inside with a virgin curiosity. Her eyes caught something that grew her confidence wildly. She smiled - almost laughed - and ran into the home.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Manalive...
"Don't you say a word against the 'Swiss Family Robinson,'" cried Innocent with great warmth. "It mayn't be exact science, but it's dead accurate philosophy. When you're really shipwrecked, you do really find what you want. When you're really on a desert island, you never find it desert. If we were really besieged in this garden we'd find a hundred English birds and English berries that we never knew were here. If we were snowed up in this room, we'd be the better for reading scores of books in that bookcase that we don't even know are there; we'd have talks with each other; good, terrible talks, that we shall go to the grave without guessing; we'd find materials for everything: christening, marriage or funeral - yes, even for a Coronation, if we didn't decide to be a republic."
If I learned to live like that....