Thursday, June 30, 2011

Lyricism - Essay

A ship rested in a becalmed sea,
While the crew was settled down nervously.
The boatswain stood neath twilight's fall,
The weight of the stillness pervaded all.
He considered the path that lead him here -
Of his loved one's embrace, his departure with tears.
How sweet was she whom he left on the shore.
His mistress, the ocean, was fickle and sore.
He knew her moods well from the saltwater in his veins,
To be a mariner true was the legacy his ancestors gave.
He lived for the sound of a sail snapping taut,
The grunts of hard labor, the hours spent on knots.
The foreign lands and sights from this life,
Made exciting new tales to tell his new wife.
But the ship was not moving, was stranded in the sea.
There was no method but the oars to break free.
He prayed for a wind, steady and strong.
He prayed for his true love, whom he'd missed for so long.
He prayed to the Father for mercy and grace.
He prayed for this to happen before he met Him face to face.
For the sea had been barren for a score and seven days.
No breeze had stirred the mast, the keel had felt no waves.
His men were resigned to this cruel and slow toll,
No portage in sight, rations and fresh water ran low.
The Boatswain lifted his eyes to the heavens once more,
Sighting his sextant to the stars and their course.
Such beauty and light in the early night sky.
"If one day we sailed those heights what more would we find?
Mine Creator's hand wove them in a pattern so fine.
So consistent are they in their journey, I can predict their places from here.
If only mine own journey were so bright and so clear!"
The man lowered his tool and gaze from on high,
and turned towards his quarters, giving a sigh.
And as he paced towards his sling and night's sleep,
A sail ruffled once, as a breath of air began to creep...

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Curiousity - Mementos

What I was writing previously to this was growing bizarre and morbid. (Something to do with the unusual possibility of death by speed squares.) I don't mean to be depressing, just that everyone dies at some point, however long we would prefer to prolong our mortal days.

In the musical Showboat, a dockworker sings "Old Man River," a tune about the monotonous grind of labor on the ships, and the way nature seemed to be a silent and steady witness to our short lives. One line sticks out, "I gets weary, and tired of tryin'.Tired of living, and scared of Dyin', but Ol' man River, he jus' keeps rollin' along."

Life is not futile or meaningless, it is just that some days seem to consist of following in a rutted path that was traveled by so many others. Some days, we wish that our lives took a different and undiscovered path. Children see themselves as pioneers - everything is new and fresh to their eyes. Every object that they come across is seen anew, a sense of wonder that I want to keep alive in my own life.

It is perspective, I want to be curious - an attitude of learning is one of the most valuable assets a human may possess in life. It becomes richer the more you plant it in the hearts of others, as they become fellow companions in the scavenger hunt for knowledge and understanding.

Sometimes, conflicts arise when there are multiple conclusions deduced from the gathered information. I have had friends whose hearts were set ablaze by the sparks that flew. However, those who take joy in this exercise often trample over the enthusiasm of peace-seeking souls.

Almost everyone has an area of sensitivity - often it is the same place in which our greatest strengths and interests lie. Conduct yourself with care and consideration when questioning or challenging another's conclusions in their field. I would like to approach life with humility, which is the hardest virtue to claim, for its successful practice results in subtlety. Rather than calling attention, it defers the spotlight to a different target who is to receive the praise or gratitude.

How would you like to inspire others? In what way would you like to leave a legacy? Sydney Carlton's exit from the fictional world in which Dickens set him was quiet, self-sacrificial, and gave life to a wrongfully condemned man. There are many fictional characters whom I admire - for they are the reflections of what humanity has the potential to become. Through the mind of the author comes an ideal to which the reader may aspire and strive harder to emulate. Sadly, many fictional characters have left a richer legacy than their living, breathing counterparts.

I want to leave behind something of value, not monetarily, but lovely nonetheless.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Kindler - Flame

"Sometimes if you received an answer the question might be taken away. Some of the Villagers had privately said that this was the only properly wise thing that they had ever heard Thrashberg say, and after a short debate, had put it down to chance."
-Mostly Harmless, by. D. Adams

What inspires you? As I was writing this title, it occurred to me that it was akin to the approximation kindlier, a state of compassion and awareness to the comfort of others. While that is not my original intent, I would be pleased if it was thought of me. Alas, I cannot conceive of all the possible ways that others may construe my work, thus, I may gain the upper hand temporarily by putting them in an introspective frame of mind.

What inspires you? At the end of the day, all I can really hope to do is to spur you into contemplation. I do not necessarily know you, reader, and am admittedly not an infallible and omnipotent being. However, I can attempt to put you on the path to He who, I believe, does possess both those qualities. I am only a traveler as well, "A stranger here myself," as a companion once confided in me with a smile.

Yes, that is my inspiration, why I do what I do. I want others to think, to know themselves, their faults as well as their virtues. Both are valuable - knowing that a hostile word or action will cut you deeply, prepares you for the initial blow and the healing process to follow.

I want to follow truth wherever it is to be found. I believe in absolutes, for life without them cannot be worth the effort. It is the striving for, the learning of, these ideals that make this existence into a story worth the living and telling. It is the process leading toward the end result.

What inspires me, you ask?
Douglas Adams' wit, which was in turn inspired by P.G. Wodehouse (among others), the musings of friends, the ever-present, living Word of God, and the determination of the Saints "of whom the world was not worthy."

What do you strive to leave as your legacy? More than words are the meaning, the thought, the idea. When the language that a work of literature was inscribed upon fails, the concept and idea might still survive in memory.

"He attacked everything in life with a mix of extraordinary genius and naive incompetence, and it was often difficult to tell which was which." - Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, by D. Adams.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Rejection - Reevaluation

I had thought about this in the abstract until one night, when I experienced it on a miniscule level. Following people's actions in the 21st century internet realm was impersonality incarnate. The followers had the equivalent of a one way mirror into the lives of the subjects who put forth portions of their lives to the public. The chief amusement lay in sending minor messages to the originator of the entertainment, hoping for a "wave"or acknowledgement from said person.

On the night in question, Falchion Malacandra sallied forth to analyze a lukewarm offering from an entertainer who he had followed for about 6 months. He didn't particularly care for the information, for it was not the fare that he had come to expect from the entertainer. However, he intended to support the entertainer in whatever they did and left an ambivalent message below the thread.

He was soon notified that he had received a reply from the person, and was overjoyed that his contribution had been noticed. The message he read was not complementary, and he was booted from the fan page. This confused him, as he didn't think that he had said anything inflammatory or rude, just that he didn't spout praise and adoration.


This mild form of rejection was like a bug bite to me, but all the same, it got my attention. Why did I follow this person? The internet was so impersonal as to lose the intention of communication. It was hideously ineffective at capturing body language and tone. Emoticons were a poor substitute for the nuances of unspoken communication.

If I had not been rejected in this small matter, however, there would be no stimulus to reevaluate my course of action as to why I did what I did. Small things lead to bigger consequences, and while I was more amused than hurt, it made me reconsider how I was spending my time.

Even more so, if I continued using the internet as a medium of communication, how could I make myself clear? I hate being misunderstood, and to do the same injustice to others is hypocrisy. Michael Pearl described hypocrites as those who know good, want to do good, but don't follow up and expect others to live up to what they struggle to accomplish.

We have all been hypocrites at one point, and I will try to improve upon this fault. A wise friend once advised that it is not possible to live up to my ideals on my own. I need the guidance, patience, and support of a Savior to lift my eyes beyond my petty interests to the light and truth of a full life. I went through the list of internet personalities whose lives I had followed and began to scale back my time commitment.

There are richer things in life in which I can invest, and I thank that one irritated person for notifying me sooner rather than later, that some people are not interested in my interest.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Whisper - Direction

"And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD. And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind:
And after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: and after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.
And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, What doest thou here, Elijah?
And he said, I have been very jealous for the LORD God of hosts: because the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away." - 1 Kings 19:11-14 (KJV)

Elijah was desperate, his life was in danger of the most fearful woman in Israel, Queen Jezebel. This lady was so vengeful that her name became an eponym - a name that defines a concept so well that the name and the concept are synonymous. Elijah was cut short in his pity party of considering himself "the only God-fearing man in Israel," God informed his prophet that there existed a remnant of 7000 who had not faltered in serving Him. Elijah was not unique in his service, and that realization cut short his wallowing.

However, God doesn't always tell us in distinct terms what is best for us, although Christians often wish he would. Free will is too valuable and interesting for God to intervene in a verifiable way. I often think he is more involved than we recognize, but less so than he is accredited as doing actively. My point is that human decisions often reap what the person sowed without divine malice or favor. God has already bestowed grace upon us, which is translated as 'unmerited favor.' What more can he give once He presented us with the offering of His Son's life as a means of reconciliation?

Rich Mullins was talking during a concert and deadpanned to the audience, "Sometimes, you need to be a little quiet, cause God doesn't always talk so loud. I wonder why He does it. Sometimes it makes me mad. But it don't do to argue with God, cause He always wins. Yeah, he'll bloody your nose then give you a ride home on His bicycle."
While I don't claim to know what story lies behind the curious last statement, Mr. Mullins was a genuine and earnest fellow, who truly loved his Savior and presented it so beautifully in the lyrics he wrote. That reference is between God and him...

Curt Cavin, a sports journalist once said, "I am pretty good at my job - but if I am asked a job related question that I myself cannot answer, I have a list of contacts who I can call to learn the answer." We are not expected to know everything, it is our weaknesses, our chinks in our armor, that make us human. If we were faultless, there would be no need for anything or anyone else to complement our lives. It is the gaps and voids in our lives that allow us to realize that we need each other. No man is an island, though some may feel like peninsulas, there is an ever-present, loving father who picks us up when we stumble, and gives us answers to our questions when He sees us mature enough to handle the reply.

Eventually, we as His children are expected to mature, to not stumble as often or as hard. That balance comes with time, experience, and dedication. We need to exert ourselves, venture forth into the light and truth to be found in Christ. "Further in and further up" as is written in C.S. Lewis's triumphant conclusion to The Chronicles of Narnia. But, as in the course of the book, the course of events sloped downward into a living nightmare before the wonder and glory of Aslan's final entry into the land. Our lives are never alone.

"Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.
So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me." - Hebrews 13:5-6 (KJV)

Even when the trail we travel appears monotonous, when the storms of life thunder and wail, when the prospects of our salvation seem lost, we have an intercessor in heaven, a High Priest who listens to our cries and understands our pain. If it were not for pain, we would not cherish so sweetly the blessing of health. Similarly, we learn from the silence to enjoy the time that is spent in hearing His voice. These trials on Earth will fade away when faced with the beauty that is our Father's house.

"In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." - John 14:2-3

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Sojourner - Truth in lyricism.

I recall that there existed a figure in history named Sojourner Truth. Interesting name chosen by an interesting person. She was born Isabella Baumfree, and found solace in religion, praying when distressed or threatened. After working for most of her life, she left with her daughter Sophia, soon after the state of New York abolished slavery. She became a traveling evangelist, and changed her name to this famous title. She gave a famous speech in 1854 about her life of labor and how she was still discriminated against as a woman and as a negro. I happen to think it one of the most interesting names I have ever seen. Just those two words, two powerfully connotative words. A sojourner is one who is staying in an area that is not his/her original home. There is almost the promise that someday, sometime, a call will beckon the wanderer home once again.

Two songs placed this concept firmly and romantically in my mind. The first is the hymn "Wayfaring Stranger." It speaks of the trials on the trail to the promised land, a tinge of being alone in the pilgrimage, but never isolated - there is a vision, a hope of reaching that glorious destination.

The second song was by a ragamuffin named Rich Mullins, a late 20th century musical artist. "Land of my Sojourn" was a love letter to the land of promise that was historical America. The tone is tender and fond, but wistful of his real home which he finally entered on September 19, 1997. "Nobody tells you, when you get born here - How much you'll come to love it and how you'll never belong here. So I'll call you my country, and I'll be longing for my home, how I wish that I could take you there with me."

In Leviticus 19:33-34, The Judeo-Christian God laid down a foundation for how the Israelites were to treat such people. "And if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not vex him. But the stanger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God."

For are we not all as wandering travelers on this mortal plane? We are spiritual beings in a physical world, and the best is yet to come.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Moderation - Control

There are days when I wake at dawn and refuse to rouse myself. The rest is a wonderful part of life - there is a balance of activity and stillness in life. I know that my life is enriched when I live a disciplined and fulfilling life, but find it a struggle. I know not the minds of others, and from my view it appears that some people have mastered the strokes of life, while I just tread water and survive.

I love anticipation, so much so that it often overwhelms the actual event which I am awaiting. It is the suspense - is it to be all that I dreamed it could be? Will it be even better? The waiting is the knowing that there is something more than the moment, something which to look forward.

Hebrews 12:1-2 "Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God."

This passage gives me hope - for if my Lord and Savior saw fit to suffer for the sake of mankind, my daily struggles are as ash to the fire lit in my soul. There have been righteous men and women in the ranks of history. "Of whom the world was not worthy" - Hebrews 11 lists in detail the persecution and pain the saints underwent for the name of Christ. If they did not relent, how can we? The evidence of their faith was the love and passion that they held, even unto death, they clung to the assurance of Christ's blood and salvation. There is a marked difference between this love of God and the extremists of 9/11. While Christ followers offer themselves up as a living sacrifice, they do not take the lives of others into their own hands. That right to life is between a soul and his God, and is not for us to decide.

Restraint is an action that is hard for me to enact. It comes with practice, and as with a muscle, takes exercise, dedication, and an end goal in mind. I need to remember that there is more at stake than what meets my physical eyes. The monotony of the everyday grind is an illusion. There are things in which I may take joy that have no cost but the time it would take to enjoy them. Money is a placeholder, it cannot buy the simple pleasure of dancing and laughing in the storm of a summer day, the warm embrace of sunlight that plays over your clothes, the caress of a spring breeze's refreshment. We tried to substitute human devices for the greater majesty of nature, with our showers, clothes dryers, and electric fans.

Perspective is key to enjoying what we do possess, rather than craving the items and services that we do not. I am thankful for today, and hope to focus on the greater weave of the tapestry of life, rather than the knots of the details. The little snarls hold the whole together, but are soon lost to sight when compared to the surrounding pattern. Control is a tricky subject, I need the discernment to know when take the reins, and when to step back and learn from the experience of another's wisdom and expertise.

I shall not dwell on the past mistakes I have made, but hope and look in the future for opportunities to try my hand again. "Why do we fall, Master Bruce? That we might learn to pick ourselves back up again." - Alfred (Batman Begins; Christopher Nolan)

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Depthmonger - a history.

A silent world, a few picoseconds beyond traditional timeline. Not much wiser, but slightly out of sync allows for some quiet. To stop time is a frivolous wish, to reverse it doubly so. For if you are able to dam the river of linear change, the breaking flood would have the potential for catastrophic consequences. All for a negligible space, a void, a wormhole in the stream. As to reversing the stream? It may be comical, but the rush to the beginning would cause serious inertia in all areas of consequence, effect would precede cause.

No, No, we either always have time travel or we never will. It is odd to think that humanity is never quite satisfied with the time it has been given. People will gladly spend a years of their life's imcome in exchange for the medical assistance to live a prolonged 5 months. Life is worth the living, just that most look at it the wrong way around. The forms of 21st century transportation that shaved incredible amounts of time and provided greater range of mobility were taken in stride by the younger generations, who demanded more.

No, we never quite comprehend the sacrifice, sweat, and trials that our progenitors underwent to build the foundations of yesterday that tomorrow's innovation will be built upon. It is like The start of Norton Juster's Phantom Tollbooth, in which Milo is neither satisfied on his trip to school or at home, always wishing he was at the other end. Ultimately, Milo witnesses the city of Illusion, which was once beautiful Reality. One day, a man discovered he got throughout his day much faster if he looked down at his shoes. Slowly, the idea caught on and all of Reality's inhabitants began to follow suit. However, most of the pleasure of traveling from one place to another is seeing all the scenery that is between the start and the destination. With no one to appreciate the beauty of reality, the city faded into invisibility.

Alternately, in Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Arthur Dent's house is to be demolished for a highway's construction. In which people would go from point A to point B and go back again, the way they do already, but only much faster! The universal irony is that earth itself is destroyed by an extraterrestrial race in order to clear the way for a interstellar hyperspace-way. Later on in the increasingly erroneously named trilogy, Arthur visits a miserable alternate universe version of earth called "What Now?" It was named iafter the first words that were spoken by the first humans who emerged from the primordial ooze.

People never seem to find satisfaction with their current station of life. It is our best trait and our greatest weakness. It is beautiful when we use this urge to improve lives, it is detestable when we did it on the backs of cheap labor, or to destroy life in a more efficient manner.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Interactions - a thought.

Where to start? Life has a definitive end, but beginnings and first times fill our mortal days. Very well then, I shall introduce myself. I am Falchion Malacandra, a philosopher-king of my divided intellect. I seek peace through the wisdom of the ages, as I find portals to the minds of others I learn and gain experience. Books are the most conventional means to this end - from some minds I glean keen insight into the ideal human condition, others act as warning to the depths to which mankind may seek. In my youth I observed far more than I acted, and this has been the story of my life.

For an example, I am quite attracted to the feminine persuasion, yet have contented myself to theoretical rather than physical interaction. For in the realm of my mind, I can intellectually simulate a conversation, a banter with no stakes and no hurt feelings. People are unpredictable for the mere reason that they will hold a different perspective of a situation than we will. I might misspeak, give the wrong message to people. I have found that girls are sometimes like flowers, it is enjoyable to take in their beauty and grace, but the nurturing and care that keeps them in such a state takes time, commitment, and patience.

I don't wish to play with the feelings of a fellow human being. I am reluctant to commit to anything, for I would prefer to keep my word when I give it, and to back out of a relationship that I initiated seems quite rude to my tastes. Of course, it is also rude not to engage at all, so I do try to be polite and respectful in my conversations.

In short, the above is the reason I love to read so much. It gives the opportunity to view the world from another set of eyes. My portable library is composed of a few choice books as well as an Ipod of fickle battery life. The music is made up of free trials which have a decay rate of 5 plays before being lost into the void of memory. The music that I actually enjoy to hear has to be conserved as a fine cask of vintage wine - to be meditated and savored upon in a special moment. Books, music, and artwork are memories, legacies that the writers or artists leave behind in a ever changing world as proof that they existed and mattered.

Long after the artist has breathed its last breath, their handiwork depends on the love and care of others to survive. Mark Twain in his dark period wrote the Mysterious Stranger, and at the end, had his characters break the fourth wall and acknowledge that they were merely players in a greater author's mind. "All there is is you, and you are but a thought." A 21st century director named Christopher Nolan used his medium to wax eloquent on the power of a thought. It left moviegoers confused, but it spurred them to wonder, to think, to reconsider what the point was. They didn't realize that Nolan had them already, his mission was accomplished - he created a movie that would attract the curious, and turn away the doubters, both of which would hold the movie in their minds. The point is existence, is investing your work in others, to be remembered for a magnum opus or a colossial failure is preferable to not being recalled at all.

The saddest thing in the world is a man who dies without friends, without a ripple on the earth. Sometimes the leap is worth the risk of falling. As Douglas Adams wrote, "There is an art, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss. Pick a nice day, and try it."

The moment has passed in so many ways for me. I am a living library, an audiobook with the purpose to remember what has gone before and leverage the knowledge of the ages, philosophers and fools alike can teach valuable lessons. I have a precedent in the realms of fiction - Lois Lowry's Giver and Ray Bradbury's converted Fireman from Fahrenheit 451. I pray that I have a better conclusion to my life's story.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Ignition - A beginning.

I am unsure of what to title the purpose of this endeavor. Suffice to say, we all attempt to put upon our best face when the environment's gaze sweeps our visages. I apologize in advance for the awkwardly pretentious language in which I indulge throughout this work. Life is a tapestry, in which many threads and people are involved, sometimes entangling so tightly that there appears no beginning. I was able to salvage portions of my personal library when I set out upon my own. The holy Bible of my Christ-honoring heritage put it well in the opening words of the gospel of John.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without Him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of man. And the light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not."

Is that not an arresting start to a tale? Sooner or later we all feel this darkness - this world has become treacherous of late. Some would attribute its decay as a loss of religion and the unified mind it promises. That is but a symptom to the main disease - mankind has reached a state of mind in which individualism is encouraged while uniformity is expected. The struggle between the message that humans are free to choose while expected to conform has resulted in many successful teen angst novels and the excellent satire of old. It causes me to recall the concept of "Doublespeak" in George Orwell's classic dystopian work 1984.

Humans do not function best when given the expectation of a dualistic life. It is self destructive, and creates a loose pattern of three groups - Those who struggle daily to reconcile their thoughts to their actions, those who suppress one nature to embrace the other, and finally, those who break the mold and live instinctively as a beast. This last group casts off intellectualism as a burden and lives in the moment.

These are not clear cut groups; though a minority might choose to stubbornly remain in their groups and resist change, Innovation and decay ensure that life cannot be lived in a stagnant state. Humans have such an interesting capacity to learn, to absorb their surrounding environment and decipher the means to react and survive. Infants grow exponentially in their physical, emotional, and mental capacities. It is such a pity that the everyday routine erodes our sense of childlike wonder. To have disease, pain, and death acts as a contrast from which to hold more dearly the times of health, joy, and life that awaits the majority of humanity on a daily basis. Sadly, it takes the absence of these extra-ordinary blessings to cause us to realize how truly dear they are to experience.

As I travel this dusty road as a sojourner, hope fills my heart. I am grateful for my possessions, but even more in thrall of the Provider from whom I received these tools and objects. I will attempt to record more of my circumstances on the morrow, as my time of rest waxes quickly.